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University  of  California*  Berkeley 


PRESS  NOTICES  OF  "PROMETHEUS." 


"  The  *  stolen  fire '  glows  in  every  one  of  the  ten  books." —  Christian  Register. 

"  As  a  meditation  on  the  great  problem  of  duty,  it  is  a  remarkable  production." — 
Index. 

"  Of  the  author  of  this  poem,  it  may  be  said  he  has  drawn  the  materials  from  his 
innermost  being.  It  has  the  charm  and  force  of  the  eye-witness.  It  is  the  solid,  sincere 
material  throughout." —  Times. 

"The  gravest  problems  of  the  day  are  discussed  with  a  depth,  originality,  and 
boldness  far  from  common." —  Pioneer. 

"  It  is  crammed  with  life,  thought,  and  profound  emotion,  poured  forth,  it  seems  to 
me,  with  extraordinary  richness  and  beauty." —  Dr.  Henry  W.  Bellows. 

"It  paints  in  glowing  language  the  struggles  of  humanity." —  Truthseeker. 
"  A  gem  worthy  to  be  set  in  every  library." —  Investigator. 
"Original,  high,  and  noble." — John  W.  Chadwick. 
"  Grandeur  of  conception,  fine  thoughts." —  Nation. 

"  The  value  of  the  book  lies  in  the  vigor,  consistency,  and  eloquence  with  which 
the  moral  temptations  of  to-day  are  set  forth." —  Scribner's  Monthly. 

"The  soul  of  a  true  poet  shines  out  in  many  grand  and  beautiful  passages." — 
Springfield  Republican. 

"  A  careful,  well-considered,  and  deliberate  performance,  with  a  strong,  distinct,  and 
clearly  understood  meaning." — New  York  Evening  Post. 


GOLDEN    THRONE. 


A  ROMANCE. 


BY 

SAMUEL   P.  PUTNAM, 

AUTHOR  OF  "PROMETHEUS,"  "GOTTLIEB,"  AND  "INGERSOLL  AND  JESUS." 


I  scorn  the  outward  deity  of  men, 

The  sovereign  of  the  skies,  the  image  cold 

Of  a  dull  terror  and  barbaric  thought ; 

But  to  the  infinite  sublime  within, 

The  essence  of  the  human  soul  I  have, 

The  deity  that  honest  manhood  makes, 

To  this  I  yield  with  ready  heart  and  hand. 


PUBLISHED   BY 

GEORGE    CHAINEY, 
51  FORT  AVENUE,     .         .     BOSTON,  MASS. 


PREFACE. 


I  WISH  this  effort  to  be  judged  not  simply  as  a  novel  but  as  a  book 
written  with  a  purpose, —  to  express  the  poetry  and  romance  that  lie  in  the 
scientific  conception  of  the  universe.  With  the  passing  away  of  the  old 
ideas,  there  is  no  loss  of  their  real  beauty  and  grandeur.  They  still 
remain  in  the  hope  and  progress  of  the  race  in  new  and  more  brilliant 
forms.  Science  is  a  revealer  of  boundless  possibilities.  It  does  not  de- 
stroy, it  builds  up.  It  carries  on  the  life  of  the  race,  not  by  breaking,  but 
by  unfolding  what  is  noblest  in  the  achievements  of  the  past.  With  new 
standards  of  duty  and  happiness,  virtue  becomes  more  splendid  and  at- 
tractive. I  have  endeavored,  though  imperfectly,  to  express  in  the  lights 
and  shades  of  fiction  these  fresh  and  varied  aspects  of  the  world,  to 
delineate  the  ampler  thoughts  and  feelings  that  we  have  when  we 
accept  things  as  they  really  are.  In  the  surrender  of  theology,  we  come 
to  Man  himself,  with  his  wonderful  faculties  and  character  and  growth ; 
and  herein  is  room  for  the  largest  imagination.  The  loves  and  aspirations 
of  man  do  not  grow  less,  but  greater,  with  his  advancing  attainments. 
Literature  and  art  feed  upon  the  truth  ;  and  in  the  truth  as  science,  and 
science  only,  can  make  it  known,  will  the  genius  of  man  reach  its  grandest 
exaltation,  and  rejoice  in  its  richest  inspiration.  I  dedicate  this  book  to 
all  those  who  believe  in  liberty,  science,  and  humanity,  and  who  labor  for 
the  welfare  of  THIS  WORLD. 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


BY  8.  P.  PUTNAM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  was  an  out-of-the-way  place.  On  three 
sides  of  it  were  huge  fragmentary  moun- 
tains, the  tallest  of  which,  twenty  miles 
away,  swept  up  into  flashing  crowns  of 
snow.  To  the  eastward,  it  was  open  to  the 
plains  that  rolled  far  off  in  pale  verdures  to 
the  horizon.  It  was  called  Golden  Throne. 
The  precious  metal  had  been  found  in  great 
abundance  there  at  one  time,  and  thousands 
had  swarmed  to  it  and  gone  away.  Only 
a  few  were  now  left.  They  could  make  a 
comfortable  living,  and  that  satisfied  them. 

Two  men  sat  talking  after  their  day's 
work,  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  one,  "  I  haven't  any 
faith  in  men.  Give  'em  a  chance,  and  they'll 
cheat  you  of  your  last  cent.  I've  been  all 
over  the  world,  and  that's  my  creed." 

"  A  harsh  creed,"  said  the  other.  "  Your 
own  unbelief  helps  to  make  men  look  mean." 

"  Look  at  the  folks  here.  How  many  can 
you  trust?  There's  Gooch  toiling  like  a 
slave  for  gold,  and  he  prays  every  night. 
He'd  kill  me,  if  he  could  and  not  be  found 
out.  He's  deacon  of  a  church  somewhere 
Down  East.  When  he  gets  rich,  he'll  go  back 
and  put  a  new  bell  in  the  steeple,  and  every- 
body will  laud  him  to  the  skies.  That's  the 
inside  and  the  outside  of  human  nature." 

"  It  may  be  the  outside,  but  I  hardly  think 


it's  altogether  the  inside.  It's  made  out  of 
better  stuff  than  you  imagine." 

"  I  don't  imagine  much  about  it.  I  take 
it  as  it  is." 

"  There,  I  differ  with  you  again,  Charlie. 
My  experience  teaches  me  that  goodness  is 
in  the  majority." 

"  A  pretty  slim  majority.  You  are  younger 
than  I  am,  and  that's  why  you  are  so  hope- 
ful." 

"  I  think  I  always  shall  be  hopeful,  no 
matter  how  old  I  grow.  It's  in  my  temper- 
ament, I  suppose." 

"  And  your  bringing  up,  too,  I  guess.  I 
was  brought  up  Orthodox  and  taught  total 
depravity  and  regeneration.  I  only  half- 
learned  my  lesson,  though.  I  have  found 
plenty  of  total  depravity  and  mighty  little 
regeneration,  even  among  church  folks.  In 
fact,  the  folks  that  are  not  born  again  seem 
to  have  the  best  of  it.  But  there's  not  much 
to  choose.  The  devil  has  got  the  go  in  this 
world,  and  he'll  keep  it.  I  used  to  go  to  Sun- 
day-school and  say  my  prayers,  and  listen 
to  long  sermons  and  read  the  Bible  through, 
I  don't  know  how  many  times,  for  the  sake 
of  a  prize ;  but  it  did  no  good.  I  never  got 
converted ;  and,  if  I  had  been,  I  should  only 
have  fared  the  worse.  I've  never  seen  a 
really  converted  man  yet.  If  he  improves 
in  one  thing,  he  grows  bad  in  another :  if  he 
stops  swearing,  he  takes  to  lying  and  steal- 


10 


GOLDEN  THBONE. 


ing.    That's  religion,  so  far  as  I've  seen  any- 
thing about  it." 

"Your  Orthodox  life  didn't  do  you  much 
good,  I  see.  I  never  tried  it,  and  so  haven't 
made  a  failure.  My  father  and  mother  had 
no  religion,  and  I  was  never  bothered  with  it- 
I  never  went  to  Sunday-school  or  church.  I 
used  to  go  hunting  and  fishing,  or  stay  at 
home  and  read.  So  I  enjoyed  life,  and  have 
ever  since ;  and,  not  being  taught  total  de- 
pravity, I  have  seen  little  of  it.  I  have  not 
sought  regeneration,  being  born  well  enough 
the  first  time.  I  have  always  been  satisfied 
with  this  world,  and  never  hankered  after 
heaven.  So  far  as  I  can  understand  it,  re- 
generation is  only  putting  on  a  new  paint ; 
and  it  dries  up  mighty  quick.  I  have  never 
expected  much  of  it.  I  like  things  as  nat- 
ure made  them." 

"Well,  you've  been  more  lucky  than  I, 
Bill.  If  I'd  had  less  Orthodoxy  and  more 
sense  in  my  bringing  up,  I  might  have  had 
more  confidence  in  men.  Orthodoxy  culti- 
vates the  devil  in  one,  and  it  makes  him  see 
a  devil  in  every  other.  I  suppose  that  is  the 
reason  why  it's  so  popular,  because  it  puts 
such  an  emphasis  on  all  the  mean  things  in 
the  universe.  At  any  rate,  I  hate  it ;  but  at 
the  same  time  in  teaching  that  all  men  are 
born  sinners  it  hits  the  truth." 

"  I  can  understand  that  Orthodoxy  being 
unnatural  gives  you  unnatural  and  barbaric 
ideas  of  men  and  women.  My  father  was 
an  infidel.  He  took  human  nature  as  it 
was.  He  never  tried  to  make  his  children 
think  that  it  was  worse  or  better  than  it  is. 
He  brought  us  in  contact  with  facts,  and  left 
us  to  judge  for  ourselves.  Of  course,  I  have 
found  the  world  to  be  both  good  and  bad. 
I  expected  this,  and  have  not  been  mate- 
rially disappointed  one  way  or  the  other ; 
and,  on  the  whole,  I  like  this  world." 

"  Well,  my  father  and  the  minister  and 
all  the  deacons  taught  me  that  this  world 
is  a  humbug,  and  I've  only  learned  the  les- 
son too  well.  Their  heaven  is  a  humbug 
and  their  hell  is  a  lie ;  but,  when  they  say 
all  men  are  born  full  of  iniquity,  I  am  bound 
to  believe  it,  for  my  experience  is  that  way." 


"  Perhaps  it  wouldn't  have  been  that  way, 
if  you  had  started  with  a  little  more  genu- 
ine faith  in  things." 

"  I  suppose  Orthodoxy  gave  me  a  twist,  and 
destroyed  what  little  faith  I  might  have  had ; 
but  I  can't  help  it.  It  is  a  cursed  education 
for  a  man  to  have  so  much  hell  and  devil 
drilled  into  him  from  infancy.  It  makes  one 
a  perfect  sceptic,  if  he  has  any  real  feeling ; 
for  things  are  bad  enough  without  being 
made  worse  by  a  theological  bugbear." 

"  I  agree  with  you :  the  faith  that  religion 
gives  is  a  very  poor  material.  It's  the  reflex 
of  a  damnable  unbelief.  It  is  based  upon 
utter  distrust.  It  is  the  shadow  of  a  shadow. 
I've  never  had  anything  to  believe  in  but  nat- 
ure, and  men  and  women  as  they  really  are. 
I've  had  very  little  to  do  with  the  Church, 
and  have  avoided  the  saints ;  and  so,  on  the 
whole,  I  have  come  to  pretty  good  faith  in 
men  and  things." 

"Well,  I  was  taught  that  there  was  no 
hope  in  nature,  but  in  a  something  above 
and  beyond  nature,  though  the  minister 
couldn't  exactly  tell  what.  I've  found  out 
that  that  something  is  all  nonsense,  or  the 
biggest  devil  of  all ;  and  so  you  see  now  I 
have  nothing  to  depend  on.  God  has  slipped 
away,  and  men  and  women  tumble  with 
him." 

"  I  hope  you'll  work  out  of  it." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall.  The  disease  is  in 
me,  and  I  shall  never  get  rid  of  it.  As  I  say, 
see  the  folks  we  come  in  contact  with  here, 
— broken-down  ministers,  rascally  lawyers, 
played-out  politicians,  money-worshiping  dea- 
cons,— what  a  muddle  they  make  1  Here  we 
see  them  as  they  really  are,  and  a  devilish 
pack  they  appear." 

"  Wait  and  see.  You'll  come  across  some- 
thing good  yet,  even  in  this  wild  country." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  are  pretty  good ;  and 
here  comes  Paddie  John.  I  rather  like  him." 

Paddie  John  was  a  slouchy,  queer  individ- 
ual, with  a  certain  air  of  manliness  and  cult- 
ure about  him.  He  had  been  educated  as  a 
Roman  Catholic  priest,  but  had  early  drifted 
out  of  superstition.  He  had  preached  some- 
what in  the  Unitarian  Church,  but  had  found 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


11 


that  its  ecclesiasticism  was  almost  as  em- 
barrassing as  that  of  Rome,  with  less  splen- 
dor and  impressiveness.  He  realized  that 
he  couldn't  be  himself,  and  so  he  quitted  the 
ministry  entirely.  His  classical  education 
was  useless  for  any  business  purposes ;  and 
so  he  floated  round,  a  kind  of  brilliant  wreck, 
although  he  really  had  fine  ability.  Some- 
times he  was  in  rags ;  and  sometimes,  by  a 
lucky  stroke,  he  could  make  a  very  elegant 
appearance.  Just  now,  he  was  under  the 
weather,  and  had  come  to  Golden  Throne 
to  pick  up,  if  possible,  a  little  money.  They 
give  queer  names  at  such  places,  and  some- 
how or  other  he  was  called  "  Paddie  John." 
His  earnings  at  present  were  slim,  and  his 
appearance  dilapidated.  But  he  took  things 
easy,  and  enjoyed  his  wild  life  with  a  good 
deal  of  relish.  He  took  considerable  liking 
to  Bill  and  Charlie,  the  two  characters 
already  introduced,  a  couple  of  well-educated 
New  England  boys. 

"Hullo,  Paddie,"  said  Charlie,  "are  you 
going  to  camp  ?  If  so,  I'll  step  along  with 
you." 

"I'm  not  bound  to  any  place  in  partic- 
ular," said  Paddie,  "  but,  if  you  are  for  the 
camp,  I'm  for  the  same.  I've  just  been  out 
to  hunt  for  some  new  specimens  of  butter- 
flies. I've  found  one.  Isn't  that  brilliant  ? 
Look  at  the  colors,"  and  he  held  the  beauti- 
ful insect  out  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"That  is  something  new,"  said  Charlie. 
"  I  don't  think  I've  seen  that  before.  What 
shall  you  call  it?" 

"  It  shall  be  nameless  evermore.  What's 
the  use  of  a  name  ?  Names  have  been  the 
curse  of  the  world,  and  destroyed  the  reality. 
Why  should  I  label  this  butterfly?  The 
label  would  cover  it  all  up ;  and  the  world 
would  study  the  label,  and  not  the  butterfly." 

"  You're  right,  Paddie.  We'll  take  the 
butterfly  just  as  he  is.  We'll  know  just  as 
much  about  him,  as  if  he  had  a  cognomen  as 
long  as  the  catechism." 

"  I  guess  you'll  want  a  name  before  you 
get  through,"  said  Bill.  "  You  fellows  re- 
volt against  everything.  You'll  be  opposed 
to  breathing  after  a  while." 


"  Of  course  I  shall,"  said  Paddie,  "  or  else 
I  couldn't  die.  But  I'll  stick  to  it  as  long  as 
I  live.  I'm  Orthodox  there,  anyway." 

"Natural,  you  mean,"  said  Bill.  "You 
confound  everything  with  Orthodoxy." 

"How  can  we  help  it?"  said  Paddie. 
"  We  were  born  Orthodox,  and  to  give  it  up 
was  like  giving  up  our  mother." 

"  Then  you  must  be  born  again,"  said  Bill, 
"  and  have  nature  for  your  mother." 

"That's  it,"  said  Paddie;  "but  nature 
forbids  civilization.  To  be  natural,  we 
must  be  savages." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Bill.  "  Civilization,  I  grant, 
has  to  a  certain  extent  been  manufactured. 
Religion  has  made  it  artificial.  But  there  is 
a  natural  civilization  which  is  real  growth, 
and  that  in  the  end  will  be  most  beautiful. 
Orthodoxy  has  not  only  perverted  nature: 
it  has  perverted  civilization,  until  it  has 
made  the  educated  man  almost  a  fool." 

"  Yes,"  said  Paddie.  "  I  studied  for  years, 
and  what  did  it  amount  to  when  I  came  to 
the  real  tussle  with  life  ?  I  can't  earn  my 
bread  and  butter  with  it.  I  have  a  diploma, 
and  yet  I  doubt  if  I  am  worth  as  much  to 
the  world  as  this  butterfly;  and  I  stand 
ashamed  by  the  side  of  many  a  rude  clod- 
hopper, and  wish  I  could  handle  the  pick  as 
well  as  he.  The  veriest  savage  can  beat  me 
in  the  struggle  for  existence.  Why  shouldn't 
I  revolt  against  everything,  and  go  straight 
to  nature  ?  " 

"  It's  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  Bill. 
"  Stick  to  the  butterfly,  and  let  the  name  go. 
We  can't  set  things  right  in  a  minute.  Good- 
night. I  must  hurry  to  my  ranch." 

"  You  have  a  palace  to  go  to,  compared  to 
our  dens,"  said  Charlie,  "  and  I  don't  wonder 
that  you  are  in  a  hurry,  so  good-night." 

CHAPTER  II. 

PADDIE  JOHN  and  Charlie  sauntered  back 
to  the  settlement. 

"  What  unfortunates  we  are,  both  of  us, 
to  have  been  trained  as  we  have, — never  to  be 
natural,  but  always  artificial,"  said  Charlie. 
"  What  a  luxury  of  thought  and  feeling 
Bill  has,  of  which  we  can  hardly  have  a 


12 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


conception ;  for  Orthodoxy  has  rendered  us 
incapable!  Even  though  we  are  free  in 
thought,  it  still  sticks  to  us,  in  our  very 
bones." 

"  Yes,  we  are  maimed  children,"  said  John. 
"I  don't  expect  to  be  perfectly  well.  We 
have  lost  our  fortune,  and  henceforth  must 
be  wanderers." 

"What  a  terrible  process  it  is,— this  un- 
making of  ourselves ! " 

"Yes,  it  leaves  us  lying  round  about  loose, 
with  hardly  any  consistent  faculty ;  and  the 
whole  world  seems  to  be  in  about  the  same 
condition." 

"  I  wonder  if  any  recovery  is  possible,  or  if 
things  have  got  to  go  to  the  devil  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  don't  bother  myself :  I  leave  it  to  evo- 
lution. Meanwhile,  I  am  going  to  study  in- 
sects and  dig  for  gold.  In  that  way,  I  may 
do  something  for  myself." 

"  I  don't  like  to  leave  things  so,  but  1  guess 
I'll  have  to,  and  take  care  of  number  one." 

"  What  success  have  you  had?  " 

"Oh,  not  much.  The  veins  seem  to  be 
worked  out  about  here.  Yet  it  looks  rich; 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  struck  some- 
thing some  time.  Really,  I'd  like  to  be  rich, 
I've  tumbled  about  the  world  a  good  deal, 
and  I  find  that  money  is  the  chief  blessing. 
It  is  a  friend  that  never  fails." 

"  I  don't  care  much  about  it.  If  I  could 
have  a  bottle  of  wine  every  day,  and  a  little 
bread  and  cheese,  I'd  be  happy." 

"  I  see  you  are  an  idealist." 

"  I  am.  That  is  what  made  me  an  infidel. 
Of  course  I  enjoyed  the  splendor  of  the  old 
Church,  and  I  think  that  some  time  or  other 
one  must  have  been  perfectly  happy  in  it 
but  now  it  is  jejune.  The  daylight  has 
killed  it." 

"But  how  did  you  come  to  see  daylight? 
All  your  family  are  still  of  the  Church,  and 
your  nation  seems  to  be  doomed  to  it  for- 
ever." 

"Yes,  Ireland  clings  to  it  as  to  a  mother. 
I  don't  wonder.  The  Church  has  been  kind 
to  my  native  land,  and  really,  if  I  were  to  go 
back  to  Christianity,  I'd  go  back  to  the  old 
Catholic  Church.  It  has  no  more  supersti- 


tion than  the  rest  of  the  churches,  and  it's 
much  more  comprehensive.  It  allows  play 
for  human  nature.  It  tries  to  satisfy  all 
wants.  It  is  deeply  poetical,  while  Protest- 
antism is  not.  It  is  only  dogmatic.  Why,  I 
thought  I  could  be  free  in  the  Unitarian 
Church,  but  I  couldn't.  If  I  didn't  say  just 
such  and  such  things,  I  had  to  take  it.  I  got 
sick  of  addressing  my  prayers  every  Sunday 
to  the  congregation,  and  wanted  to  drop  off 
occasionally  for  a  rest,  but  they  wouldn't  let 
me.  I  had  to  keep  right  on.  They  could 
listen  to  the  dryest  prayer  complacently,  but 
they  wouldn't  listen  for  a  moment  to  its  be- 
ing omitted.  So  I  had  to  leave  the  Church 
entirely." 

"  I  never  could  think  of  being  a  minister," 
said  Charlie.  "  I'd  as  soon  be  a  parrot  in  a 
cage.  They  are  slaves,  the  whole  of  'em. 
I'd  rather  dig  here,  and  live  in  a  hole  in  the 
ground." 

"I'd  rather  study  butterflies  than  their 
confounded  theology.  How  I  hate  the  who\e 
thing!  What  a  curse  it  has  been  to  my 
country !  Ireland  would  be  free  to-day,  if 
she  could  have  snapped  her  fingers  at  the 
priest.  There  never  can  be  liberty  with  su 
perstition." 

"  There's  nothing  but  failure ;  for  men 
will  always  be  superstitious,  and  so  the  king 
and  priest  will  always  reign.  Come  in. 
We'll  take  a  bit  of  drink  together  before 
bedtime." 

Charlie  lived  in  a  dug-out.  It  was  as 
comfortable  as  anything,  he  said,  and 
wouldn't  burn  down.  He  lighted  the  can- 
dle, and  they  sat  by  the  old  table  on  a  couple 
of  boxes.  The  demijohn  and  pipes  and  to- 
bacco were  handy. 

They  sipped  a  little,  and  dreamily  smoked- 

"  I  am  about  as  happy  here  as  anywhere,'1 
said  John.  "  I  like  this  old  hat  and  boots, 
and  I  like  the  fit  of  my  clothes,  and  I  have 
plenty  of  ventilation.  See  what  a  hole  I 
tore  to-day." 

"We  have  nothing  to  bother  us  here," 
said  Charlie.  "  We  are  kings,  because  we 
don't  care  a  snap  for  anybody.  We  can  be 
as  dirty  and  ragged  as  we  please." 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


13 


"  That's  the  luxury  of  it.  I  don't  care  to 
exchange  places  with  any  one.  A  million- 
naire  couldn't  be  more  independent.  How- 
ever, I  never  thought  of  this,  when  I  was 
young.  What  dreams  I  used  to  have  when 
I  believed  that  the  Church  was  the  borne  of 
everything  beautiful,  and  just  fitted  to  make 
the  world  happy  !  " 

"Well,  I  never  dreamed  much,"  said 
Charlie.  "I  always  was  a  practical  chap. 
I  lived  on  a  farm  in  New  England,  and  we 
had  to  work  b*-*-'.  There  wasn't  much 
chance  for  poeuy,  and  what  poetry  there 
might  have  been  was  knocked  out  of  us  by 
our  religion.  I  can't  say,  on  the  whole,  that 
I'd  choose  existence." 

"  Oh,  I'd  choose  it  in  a  minute,  anywhere, 
under  any  form,"  said  John,  with  true  Irish 
fervor.  "  All  I  want  is  to  live.  Why,  I'd  be 
happy  even  if  I  was  only  a  worm  of  the 
dust." 

"  I'd  hardly  be  happy,  if  I  was  king  upon 
a  throne,"  said  Charlie.  "Life  is  a  grim 
sort  of  a  thing  under  any  circumstances." 

«  Why  don't  you  die,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  when  the  time  comes,  and  very 
gladly  too.  But  fate  has  put  me  here,  and 
fate  must  take  me  away.  1  have  no  right  to 
interfere  with  fate." 

"  You  believe  in  fate,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  in  a  dark,  iron  fate,  that  holds 
me  in  its  pitiless  grasp  as  if  I  were  an  in- 
sect." 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  in  anything  really. 
I  don't  think  it  pays  to  have  any  faith,  not 
even  in  life  itself.  We  must  simply  enjoy  it. 
If  a  man  asked  me  if  I  believed  in  my  own 
existence,  I'd  say  no.  I  don't  know  what 
the  logical  consequence  of  such  an  assump- 
tion would  be.  It  would  be  safer  to  deny  it.  I 
don't  want  anything  to  do  with  logic,  only 
with  poetry.  Now,  poetry  don't  need  any 
premises,  and  therefore  I  won't  make  any 
premises.  Poetry  only  deals  in  ideals,  and  I 
have  plenty  of  them." 

u  I  guess  you  have,  and  in  that  have  the 
advantage  of  me.  You  see  a  world  of  beauty 
even  in  a  butterfly's  wing." 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  cried  John,  enthusiastically, 


"and  in  a  bit  of  stone  or  blade  of  grass. 
Just  look  at  this  butterfly.  Is  anything 
richer  than  that?  What  gorgeous  colors! 
Silver  and  gold  is  there  more  plentiful  than 
in  any  bank.  What  lady  ever  dressed  finer? 
And  there  are  millions  of  just  such  beautiful 
things  in  nature.  Take  anything  that  you 
come  across,  the  first  pebble  that  you  can  lay 
your  hand  on,  and  it's  a  marvel.  It's  infinite 
in  its  loveliness." 

"  How  I  envy  you  1  What  a  glory  it  is  to 
be  a  poet!  Everything  thrills  you.  The 
swaying  of  a  branch  is  music.  I  wonder  if 
you  see  the  reality,  or  are  you  cheated  by 
your  imagination  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  poetry  and  truth  are  one, 
and  that  poetry  dwells  in  truth  and  can  dwell 
nowhere  else.  Yet  what  is  truth  ?  We  don't 
know.  For  us,  then,  the  beautiful  only  is 
the  true.  Yet  again,  when  anything  ceases 
to  be  true  to  us,  it  ceases  to  be  beautiful. 
What  is  false  is  hideous.  How  happy  the 
world  would  have  been,  if  it  had  had  only 
the  poets  to  interpret  the  universe!  The 
curse  came,  when  theologians  undertook  to 
explain  things.  It's  all  nonsense  to  try  to 
explain  things.  All  we  want  are  pictures. 
Damn  theories." 

"  Don't  you  theorize  about  the  butterfly  or 
the  stone  or  the  flower  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't.  They  are,  and  that's  suffi- 
cient." 

"  Science,  then,  is  folly?  " 

"  It  is,  unless  it  stops  with  observation.  It 
can  arrange  things  and  improve  things,  but 
it  can't  explain  'em.  Science  and  poetry  are 
one.  Both  depend  on  observation  of  what 
actually  is.  Science  makes  the  cup,  poetry 
furnishes  the  wine.  Both  enable  us  to  drink 
deep  draughts  of  life." 

"  I  see  no  speculation  in  your  eyes." 

"  I  don't  want  speculation.  I  want  insight, 
vision.  I  don't  speculate  about  the  butterfly. 
I  simply  see  it.  What  more  can  any  one  do  ? 
The  trouble  is  that  the  vast  majority  of 
people  don't  see  the  butterfly ;  in  fact,  they 
see  hardly  anything.  They  are  blinded  by 
speculation." 

"  Well,  one  must  be  born  a  poet  in  order 


14 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


to  see ;  and,  if  not  born  a  poet,  then  he  must 
speculate." 

"We  are  all  born  poets,  I  think.  It  is 
education  that  robs  us  of  our  birthright." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Charlie. 

A  singular  sort  of  an  individual  entered. 
He  was  not  prepossessing  by  any  means.  He 
had  a  hang-dog  look.  His  hair  was  combed 
straight  back  from  his  forehead.  His  eyes 
had  hardly  any  color,  but  you  might  call 
them  watery  blue.  They  did  not  look  at  you 
steadily.  They  were  restless,  serpent  eyes. 
His  nose  was  crooked.  His  lips  were  thin, 
and  behind  them  were  a  few  small  and  gleam- 
ing teeth.  A  thin  gray  beard  was  scattered 
over  his  face.  His  gait  was  somewhat  sham- 
bling, and  he  bent  his  head  with  an  air  of 
humility.  There  was  no  assertion  of  man- 
hood about  him.  He  looked  like  a  walking 
apology. 

This  was  Gooch.  "  The  deacon  "  was  the 
name  he  went  by.  He  was  deacon,  and  a 
very  good  one  he  made  when  at  home.  He 
had  some  faculty  for  praying.  He  could  talk 
glibly  of  the  total  depravity  of  man.  He 
seemed  to  believe  in  it  with  his  whole  heart. 
He  could  discourse  also  of  regeneration,  but 
his  faith  in  that  was  not  so  strong  as  his  faith 
in  depravity.  Above  all,  he  was  eminently 
fitted  for  his  office,  from  the  fact  that  no  one 
could  look  at  him  without  a  most  solemn  and 
awful  feeling.  You  couldn't  laugh  while  in 
his  presence.  He  made  you  feel  the  utter 
worthlessness  of  human  life. 

Like  all  deacons,  he  wanted  money.  There 
was  never  a  deacon  yet  who  didn't  hunger 
for  earthly  riches,  and  who  wouldn't  split  a 
cent  in  making  change.  So  Gooch  had  wan- 
dered from  his  rocky  farm  to  Golden  Throne. 
No  man  worked  harder  than  he  or  was  more 
saving.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  always 
talking  of  the  heavenly  kingdom. 

"Take  a  seat,"  said  Charlie.  " There  are 
plenty  of  chairs,  if  you'll  only  sit  on  the 
floor." 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  care  to  sit,"  said  the 
deacon. 

"Take  a  smoke?" 


"  I  don't  wish  to.  The  Lord  does  not  per- 
mit me." 

"  He  ought  to,  for  he  smokes  himself,"  said 
Paddie. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  queried  the 
deacon,  solemnly. 

"  Doesn't  the  Bible  say  that  smoke  came 
out  of  his  nostrils  ?  " 

"  The  Lord's  ways  are  not  our  ways.  We 
are  not  to  do  as  he  did,"  responded  the  dea- 
con. 

"  I  should  say  not,"  said  Paddie.  "  If  you 
did,  you'd  be  a  mighty  mean  fellow." 

"It's  a  mystery,  and  I  tremble  for  you 
that  you  make  light  of  it." 

"  Of  course  you  don't  want  any  light  on 
the  subject.  The  less  you  know,  the  better." 

"  It  isn't  for  us  to  understand,"  said  the 
deacon.  "  We  must  believe  and  trust." 

"Trust  is  a  dead  dog  nowadays,"  said 
Charlie.  "  It's  cash  down  with  me." 

"  I'll  pray  for  ye,"  said  the  deacon.  "  I 
come  to  borrow  a  little  whiskey.  I  feel  sick 
at  my  stomach." 

"  Why  don't  you  pray,  then,  and  get 
cured?" 

"  We  shouldn't  pray  for  temporal  blessings, 
only  for  spiritual." 

"  Well,  whiskey  is  spiritual,  and  I  'spose  you 
pray  for  that.  I'll  answer  your  prayer,  if  the 
Lord  won't." 

Charlie  gave  the  deacon  a  generous  drink. 

"I  feel  better  now.  I'm  much  obliged 
to  ye." 

"  You  are  welcome.  If  I  could  get  enough 
whiskey  in  ye  to  get  religion  out,  I'd  like  it : 
it  would  be  a  fair  exchange." 

"  I  couldn't  do  without  my  religion,"  said 
the  deacon. 

"  Well,  keep  it :  nobody  else  wants  it." 

"  I  wish  you  had  it :  it's  better  than  gold." 

"  Why  don't  you  dig  for  it  then,  as  you  dig 
for  gold?" 

"Oh,  it's  the  gift  of  God.  We  mustn't 
work  for  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  do.  Good-night,  happy 
dreams,  and  a  good  long  prayer." 

"Good-night.  I  shall  certainly  enjoy 
praying  now.  I  really  feel  as  if  the  spirit 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


15 


was  upon  me,"  and  the  rejuvenated  deacon 
departed. 

"  That's  just  like  him,"  said  Charlie.  "  He 
comes  here  twice  a  week  to  borrow  whiskey. 
I  suppose  he  belongs  to  a  total  abstinence 
society  Down  East,  and  has  taken  a  pledge  to 
touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not.  These  fel- 
lows have  a  very  convenient  knack  of  being 
sick  when  they  want  a  little  of  the  old  rye. 
What  a  pleasant  time  some  people  have,  serv- 
ing God  and  the  devil  both ! " 

"  That's  a  wise  way  of  living,  if  we  can  only 
stretch  our  conscience  to  it.  It  is  well 
enough  to  keep  a  lookout  for  the  hereafter ; 
for,  if  the  Orthodox  God  has  got  the  manage- 
ment of  things,  he'll  make  it  hot  for  us. 
Now,  if  we  can  serve  the  devil  in  this  world 
and  have  a  good  time,  and  then  at  last  turn 
up  with  a  harp  of  gold,  why,  that's  a  good 
game  to  play." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Charlie.  "  It's  four  aces 
and  a  king,  and  we  are  sure  of  the  pot." 

"I  can't  play  it  though.  I  want  a  fair 
and  square  deal,  and  take  my  chances." 

"  So  do  I.  I'm  going  to  be  a  man,  and  I 
don't  care  whether  there's  a  God  or  not.  He 
can't  hurt  my  manhood,  whatever  else  he 
may  do." 

There  came  a  cry  for  help  from  outside, — 
a  boyish  cry. 

"By  thunder,  I  believe  that's  little  Pete," 
said  Charlie.  "  I  wonder  what  the  trouble  is 
now,"  and  the  two  men  hurried  out. 

CHAPTER  III. 

IT  was  only  a  little  brawl,  such  as  takes 
place  almost  every  evening  in  a  mining  town. 
Having  nothing  else  to  amuse  them,  the  in- 
habitants take  to  this  form  of  recreation. 
It  is  the  entertainment  of  savages,  which,  as 
civilization  progresses,  gives  way  to  the  opera 
and  theatre  for  the  more  lively,  and  the 
prayer-meeting  and  the  funeral  for  those 
who  are  of  a  more  sober  disposition.  It  is 
impossible  for  people  to  keep  quiet ;  and,  if 
they  can  have  no  other  channel,  they  will 
insist  upon  "bloody  noses  and  cracked 
crowns." 

Little  Pete  came  running  up  to  Charlie, 


as  if  to  claim  his  protection.  He  was  a  queer- 
looking  boy,  rather  tall  for  his  apparent  age, 
but  very  slightly  built,  as  if  the  wind  might 
blow  him  away.  He  looked  constantly 
scared.  His  bright  eyes  were  wide  open  and 
restless.  He  shrank  from  companionship, 
and  liked  to  be  alone.  Nobody  knew  whence 
he  came.  He  seemed  like  an  apparition. 
He  was  well  behaved,  and  kept  himself  scru- 
pulously clean,  though  his  clothes  were  al- 
most nothing  but  rags.  Golden  Throne  was 
troubled  but  little  about  the  waif.  It  was 
sublimely  indifferent,  even  like  a  great  city, 
to  anybody  and  everybody.  Pete  might 
have  disappeared  as  mysteriously  as  he  came, 
and  not  a  word  would  have  been  said.  He 
managed  to  pick  up  a  little  gold  and  obtain 
a  decent  living.  Sometimes,  he  did  a  bit  of 
cooking  for  the  miners. 

"Why,  little  Pete,"  said  Charlie,  "  you  are 
scared  again,  and  all  for  nothing." 

"I  krow  it,"  said  Pete;  "but  Dick's  a 
fighting,  and  I  thought  he'd  fight  me." 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't  touch  you.  He  takes 
those  of  his  size." 

"But  he  swears  terribly,  and  he    looks 

ugly." 

"  Well,  he  is  ugly,  and  so  it's  well  enough 
to  keep  out  of  his  way." 

There  was  a  fight,  however ;  but  it  didn't 
last  long. 

Big  Dick  was  the  bully  of  the  settlement. 
He  was  over  six  feet  high,  and  strong  as  a 
bull,  and  ugly  as  the  devil.  He  was  a  per- 
fect barbarian.  He  was  born  in  the  wilds 
of  Texas,  and  had  been  a  cow-boy  all  his  life 
till  he  came  to  the  mines.  He  worked  hard 
during  the  day,  and  caroused  at  night  and 
kept  things  lively.  It  was  seldom  that  he 
could  get  any  one  to  fight  with  him,  and  so 
he  had  the  field  to  himself;  but  to-night 
"  the  minister "  pitched  into  him,  and  was 
ignominiously  defeated. 

Golden  Throne  could  boast  of  a  minister 
as  well  as  a  deacon ;  but  the  minister  wasn't 
quite  so  sober  and  well-behaved  as  the  dea- 
con, and  made  no  pretence  at  praying.  He 
was  drunk  about  all  the  time,  and  like  the 
rest  of  the  ministerial  tribe  did  nothing  but 


16 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


]oaf.  That's  the  chief  end  of  a  minister  to 
loaf  gracefully ;  and  though  "  Jimmy,"  as  he 
was  sometimes  called,  had  given  up  every- 
thing else  pertaining  to  the  profession,  he 
hadn't  given  that  up,  which  is  the  last  priv- 
ilege that  clergymen  yield.  It  is  the  most 
difficult  thing  in  the  world  for  them  to  go  to 
work. 

Jimmy  had  been  a  brilliant  Methodist 
minister.  He  could  count  his  converts  by 
the  thousand.  He  was  a  man  of  marvellous 
eloquence.  He  was  full  of  sentiment  and 
poetry.  Religion  was  really  a  luxury  to 
him,  and  he  enjoyed  it  as  such.  It  was  a 
species  of  sensuous  delight,  and  I  suppose 
that  is  the  reason  why  he  at  last  came  to 
his  ruin.  He  had  no  moral  principle,  only 
good-feeling.  He  had  no  intellectual  convic- 
tion ;  for,  though  his  mind  was  bright,  yet 
it  was  just  bright  enough  to  reject  the  old 
ideas,  and  not  strong  enough  to  go  forth  and 
build  in  accordance  with  the  new.  He  was 
a  child  of  passion,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that 
in  the  midst  of  dazzling  temptations  he  fell. 
He  must  indeed  have  been  an  angel  of  light 
to  have  been  able  to  play  so  powerfully  as  he 
did  upon  the  passions  of  men  and  women, 
exalting  and  sweeping  them  away  on  tides 
of  splendid  eloquence,  without  himself  being 
moved  to  the  very  depths  of  his  sensitive 
nature,  and  so  ravished  by  physical  beauty 
f.ha/h  the  influence  was  almost  overpowering. 
A  sublime  mental  belief  would  have  saved 
him ;  but  he  lacked  that,  and  his  preaching 
was  only  a  form  of  passion,  and  is  it  strange 
that  that  passion  found  other  channels  ? 

So  here  he  was  at  last,  a  disreputable 
wreck,  with  no  hope,  living  from  hand  to 
mouth  in  this  corner  of  the  world,  among 
rude  men,  he  who  had  the  power  "  the  ap- 
plause of  listening  senates  to  command." 

He  was  generally  peaceable,  and  the  camp 
delighted  to  hear  him  tell  stories,  which  he 
could  do  with  remarkable  dramatic  ability. 
To-night,  however,  he  felt  his  oats,  having  a 
sort  of  extra  drunk,  and  he  imagined  that 
he  could  master  Dick.  He  soon  lay  with 
bloody  nose  upon  the  ground,  not  much  hurt 
however,  but  convinced  that  in  meeting  Big 


Dick  upon  the  field  of  the  "  noble  art  of  self- 
defence  "  he  had"  mistaken  his  calling. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  yer,  preacher,  for 
giving  me  a  chance.  I  wish  yer  were  big- 
ger, so  we  could  have  a  longer  tussle.  I've 
no  chance  at  all  among  these  fellers,  they  all 
back  down  so  quick." 

"  We  ought  to  import  a  bull  for  your  es- 
pecial benefit,"  said  Charlie:  "then  we'd 
have  some  fun,  sure." 

"  I'd  give  fifty  dollars  to  try  it,"  said  Dick. 

"  I'd  give  another,  for  1  would  like  to  see 
you  bite  the  dust,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Well,  fetch  the  bull  along.    I'm  ready." 

Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  ready,  he 
looked  so  mighty  in  his  superb  physical 
development. 

"Well,  Jimmy,"  said  Charlie,  "this 
wasn't  a  successful  revival-meeting,  was  it  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  begin  to  pray  quick  enough," 
said  Paddie. 

"Well,  I  had  the  fun  of  trying,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Jimmy.  "I  am  satisfied  now 
that  I  can't  whollop  Dick.  I  feel  discour- 
aged, like  the  bull  when  he  undertook  to 
stop  the  engine." 

"You  have  many  things  to  discourage 
you,  I  see,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  should  think 
you  would  want  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf." 

"Oh,  I  have  turned  over  all  the  leaves, 
and  have  come  to  the  finis.  I  can't  turn  any 
more.  Why,  I  have  been  converted  nigh  on 
to  a  hundred  times." 

"But  you  can  try  it  a  hundred  times 
more,"  said  Paddie.  "Long  as  the  lamp 
holds  out  to  burn,  the  vilest  sinner  may 
return." 

"  Well,  I've  got  tired  of  it.  I  am  in  the 
last  ditch,  and  I  think  I  will  stay  there." 

"  But  it's  a  pity,  when  you  could  be  so  re- 
spectable, if  you  only  would." 

"If  I  only  would!  How  do  you  know 
that  ?  I  would,  and  yet  I  can't." 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  the  freedom  of  the 
will?" 

"  That  is  a  pretty  deep  question  for  a 
drunken  man  to  answer." 

"  Well,  1  think  a  drunken  man  can  answer 
it  as  well  as  anybody,"  said  Paddie.  "  We 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


17 


are  free  to  do  what  we  are  fated  to  do,  and 
that's  all." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Jimmy.  "I  have 
given  up  the  struggle.  I  can't  do  anything. 
They  who  say  I  can  do  not  understand  me. 
Can  I  leave  off  drinking  whiskey  ?  jNTo. 
Another  man  might  in  my  circumstances ; 
and  I  might  in  the  circumstances  of  another 
man.  But  I,  in  my  circumstances,  can  do  no 
other  than  I  do  do,  and  that  is  to  drink  this 
bottle  to  the  dregs." 

"  That's  a  good  swig,  and  I  guess  you  had 
better  go  to  bed  on  it.  You  won't  be  able 
to  talk  theology  after  such  a  dose." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I'm  in  just  the  mood  for  theol- 
ogy. I  never  understood  the  universe  so 
well  as  I  do  now.  I  really  believe  that  I 
could  evolve  a  system.  I  am  full  of  the 
ideas  of  Plato,  and  I  penetrate  the  secret  of 
Hegel.  I  am  never  so  ignorant  as  when 
I'm  sober,  and  am  never  so  wise  as  when  I'm 
drunk ;  and  I  think  that's  the  way  with  the 
rest  of  mankind.  To  be  a  philosopher,  one 
must  be  intoxicated." 

"You  are  a  first-class  philosopher  then," 
said  Charlie.  "  I  suppose  you  can  solve  us 
any  riddle.  Tell  us  who  was  the  father  of 
Abraham's  children.  If  you  can  answer 
that,  you  will  do  as  much  as  any  philosopher 
ever  did." 

"  I  will  solve  the  mystery  &  la  Descartes. 
I  think,  therefore  I  am.  I  am,  therefore  I 
exist.  I  exist,  therefore  I  live.  I  live,  there- 
fore I  eat  and  drink.  I  eat  and  drink,  there- 
fore I  discourse.  I  discourse,  and  therefore 
I  think.  What  can  be  more  plain  than  that  ? 
The  logical  conclusion  of  which  is  that  I  am 
going  to  sleep,  and  my  philosophy  will  dis- 
solve in  dreams." 

"I  wouldn't  sleep  on  the  ground,  though. 
Let  me  put  you  in  your  little  bed."  And 
they  led  the  reeling  philosopher  and  preacher 
to  his  quarters. 

"  Come,  Pete,  you  can  stay  with  me,  if  you 
want  to.  There's  plenty  of  room." 

"Oh,  no.  I'm  all  right  now.  I'll  go 
home."  And  off  he  went. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  that  little 
chap,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  guess  he's  a  rascal. 


I  never  can  get  a  square  look  at  him,  he's  so 
shy.  He's  nice-looking,  but  you  can't  tell 
anybody  by  their  looks.  He  may  be  up  to 
some  deviltry.  Good-night,  Paddie.  I  guess 
we  can  sleep  now.  We've  had  our  usual  en- 
tertainment." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  will  return  to  our  friend  Bill  now, 
whose  home  was  in  a  distant  and  solitary 
spot.  He  leaped  lightly  across  a  narrow  ra- 
vine, and  followed  through  the  straggling 
timber  a  somewhat  beaten  pathway  up  'the 
mountains.  He  soon  came  to  a  large,  open 
space  or  "  pocket,"  from  whence  could  be  seen 
a  vast  extent  of  country.  A  dozen  lofty 
oaks  were  scattered  about,  in  the  midst  of 
which  was  a  cabin  with  an  exquisitely  kept 
garden  in  front.  It  was,  indeed,  a  scene 
fresh  and  beautiful  as  paradise.  The  golden 
sunlight  was  flooding  it,  and  the  many  peaks 
seen  for  miles  away  were  shining  as  if  cov- 
ered with  jewels.  The  wildness  and  gran- 
deur of  the  view  were  inexpressible.  The  tall 
trees ;  the  vast  defiles ;  the  huge  rocks  tum- 
bled about,  as  if  long  ago  there  had  been  some 
fantastic  battle  of  the  giants ;  the  gleaming 
cliffs  and  superb  mountain-tops,  many  of 
them  clothed  with  dazzling  snow,  all  suffused 
and  glorified  with  the  ineffable  tints  of  sun. 
set, —  made  a  spectacle  of  wondrous  magnifi- 
cence. One  seemed  to  be  in  fairy  land,  and 
could  almost  forget  that  he  had  ever  heard 
the  "  still  sad  music  of  humanity  "  in  crowded 
thoroughfares.  It  was  like  a  vast,  sweet 
temple  of  nature,  where  the  spirit  could 
commune  with  noblest  forms,  and  revel  in 
pure  and  beautiful  existence,  and  forget  the 
superstitions  of  blinded  men  and  the  tram- 
mels of  custom.  There  are  times  when  soli- 
tude is  inspiring,  and  the  rude  aspects  of  nat- 
ure delightful;  and  it  is  a  rich  experience 
in  one's  life  to  dwell  among  these  savage  sur- 
roundings, so  grand  and  terrible,  and  drink 
in  the  spirit  of  the  universe,  and  become  he- 
roic in  thought  and  purpose. 

Bill,  the  miner,  was  a  man  of  considerable 
culture.  He  had  dwelt  most  of  his  life  in 
New  England,  on  the  banks  of  one  of  its 
loveliest  streams.  But,  being  of  an  advent- 


18 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


urous  disposition  and  somewhat  ambitious, 
he  had  come  to  California  in  search  of  a 
fortune.  He  loved  the  mountains,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  dwelt  apart  from  his  com- 
rades,—  not  from  any  spirit  of  misanthropy, 
but  because  he  enjoyed  lonely  studies,  and 
also  because,  in  the  little  cabin  toward  which 
he  wended  his  way,  lived  with  him  the  only 
surviving  member  of  his  family,  besides  him- 
self, his  sister  Madeline. 

She  was  at  the  door  to  greet  him  with  a 
smile  and  kiss.  She  was  very  beautiful, — 
pale  and  delicate,  with  an  unusual  brilliancy 
in  her  eyes.  Indeed,  it  required  but  little 
observation  to  discover  that  she  was  slightly 
deranged.  Yet  she  was  charming,  intelli- 
gent, graceful,  and  full  of  sunshine.  She 
was  neatly  attired,  and  the  cabin  was  in  the 
best  of  order;  and  a  supper  that  would 
have  tempted  a  king  was  ready  for  the  tired 
worker. 

"1  am  glad  to  get  home,"  said  BiU.  "I 
haven't  had  much  luck  to-day, —  enough  to 
pay  for  my  supper,  though;  and,  since  I 
have  no  landlord  to  demand  rent,  I  guess  I 
can  make  out  to  live.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Maddie?" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  she  replied.  "I  don't 
think  one  can  starve  in  this  country.  We 
have  all  that  we  want." 

«'  Yet  I  hope  to  be  rich.  It  seems  as  if  I 
would  not  always  live  here.  There  is  strange 
magic  in  wealth ;  and,  if  I  had  it,  it  seems  as 
if  I  could  dwell  in  fairy  land." 

"  This  is  fairy  land.     Here  we  are  happy." 

"  Happy, —  yes  ;  but  it  is  our  fate,  I  sup- 
pose, always  to  be  dissatisfied.  I  never  ex- 
pect to  have  a  sweeter  life  than  I  do  now ; 
and  yet  I  always  want  to  strike  luck  and  fill 
my  pockets  with  gold." 

"  I  hope  you  will.  It  can  do  no  hurt  to  have 
the  gold,  whether  you  can  spend  it  or  not. 
I  do  not  care  to  have  it.  I  prefer  the  flowers." 

"  I  am  glad  you  do ;  and  how  plenty  they 
are  !  So  we  are  rich,  if  we  only  knew  it." 

"  Kich,  indeed ;  and  yet,  Willie,  I  was  feel- 
ing homesick  to-day." 

"  Homesick  1  Did  you  want  to  see  the  old 
farm  once  more  ?  " 


"  Oh,  I  did.  How  beautiful  it  looked  in 
my  dreams !  The  great  trees,  the  fields  and 
the  rocks,  and  the  brook, —  how  they  shone 
with  wonderful  light  1  It  almost  seemed  as 
if  I  were  there." 

"Yet  how  changed  all  would  be,  if  we 
should  visit  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  sighed  Madeline.  "  I  could  not 
go  back  ;  and  yet  I  have  such  a  longing  for 
the  old  life.  I  can  hardly  endure  the  thought 
that  it  is  gone  forever.  It  seems  as  if  I 
must  live  it  once  again." 

"Perhaps  we  shall.  Some  philosophers 
say  that  this  life  is  but  a  reliving  of  some 
former  one,  and  that  our  knowledge  is  but 
a  remembering;  and,  if  we  lived  it  once, 
why  not  again  ?  I'm  sure  I've  no  objection. 
I'd  rather  live  this  life  over  again  than  go 
to  heaven  and  play  on  a  harp  of  gold." 

"  I  wonder  if  we  shall  live  again,"  mused 
Madeline.  "It  seems  as  if  all  this  beauty 
of  thought  and  feeling  that  we  have  cannot 
come  to  an  end,  that  something  at  least 
must  remain ;  and  yet  I  know  not.  Father 
and  mother  never  gave  us  any  hope,  and  yet 
I  cannot  feel  that  they  have  quite  passed 
away,  even  though  they  said  they  should, 
and  were  satisfied  to  rest  in  the  bosom  of 
nature  in  sweet  sleep." 

"  There  they  are  in  the  quiet  valley  ;  and 
all  that  is  left  is  the  influence  of  their  de- 
voted lives.  I  can  see  no  greater  immortal- 
ity. That  is  all  they  taught  me,  and  it  is 
all  that  I  believe.  It  is  all  that  my  reason 
can  assent  to.  And  yet  we  have  these  hopes 
and  dreams  within  us.  It  may  be  there  is 
something  beyond." 

"  I  hardly  care  to  live,  unless  I  can  live  as 
fully  and  freely  as  I  do  now,  with  as  much 
enjoyment  of  nature.  What  is  the  use  of 
a  vague,  shadowy,  unsubstantial  existence  V 
We  might  as  well  mingle  with  the  wind,  and 
forget  ourselves." 

"That's  what  I  think.  I  want  life,  if 
I  am  going  to  live, —  life  with  flesh  and 
blood  in  it,  like  this.  I  don't  want  to  be  a 


How  can  we  have  an  existence  like  this, 
unless  we  have  a  body  like  this  ?    And  we 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


19 


know  that  the  body  perishes.  We  can 
think  of  no  life  outside  of  the  body." 

"  It's  a  puzzle,  isn't  it  ?  And  I  always  end 
by  giving  it  up." 

"Yet  we  constantly  recur  to  the  puzzle. 
It  haunts  us.  Why  is  the  world  always  talk- 
ing about  it?" 

"Perhaps  because  it  is  in  its  childhood. 
If  it  were  grown  up,  it  would  devote  itself  to 
this  life  and  think  of  no  other." 

"That  would  be  wiser, I  admit;  and  yet 
how  hard  it  is  to  be  wise  or  cease  to  be  child- 
ish. Even  now,  I  like  to  see  the  new  moon, 
as  I  do  at  this  moment,  over  my  right  shoul- 
der." 

"  We  are  children  of  the  past,  and  can't 
escape  what  it  has  taught  us." 

"  It  does  seem  at  times  as  if  I  had  lived 
for  ages.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  breathed  and 
thought  long  ago,  when  these  mountains  first 
began  to  be.  I  know  I  was  with  them  at 
their  birth." 

"  Probably  you  were,  in  some  shape.  You 
have  weird  fancies  at  times." 

"  I  do.  I  sometimes  think  I  hear  voices 
and  see  visions.  I  thought  to-day  I  saw 
mother.  It  could  not  have  been  a  dream  it 
was  so  real." 

"  We  will  call  it  a  reality,  for  we  hardly 
know  where  to  draw  the  line  between  a 
dream  and  a  fact." 

4<  I  care  not  to  settle  it.  I  like  to  have 
some  things  uncertain, —  otherwise  life  would 
be  a  dead  calm, —  but  now  it  is  full  of  ripples 
that  catch  with  varying  light  the  changing 
heaven.  I  am  content,  though  I  feel  as  if  I 
knew  but  very  little,  and  must  guess  at  a 
great  deal." 

"  Some  things  we  know,  at  least.  I  know 
that  I  have  had  a  good  supper;  that  the 
beefsteak  was  nicely  broiled,  and  the  gems 
delightful.  And  I  know  that  this  evening  is 
beautiful,  with  the  moon  shedding  its  light, 
and  the  mountains  lying  about  in  grand 
majesty,  and  the  trees  whispering — I  don't 
know  what  —  but  something  very  pleasant. 
Indeed,  what  little  knowledge  I  have  gives 
me  infinite  joy." 

"  I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  the  supper,  and  I 


presume  that,  if  you  didn't  enjoy  that,  you 
wouldn't  enjoy  anything  else.  So  we  are 
creatures  of  the  flesh,  after  all." 

"  That's  to  our  credit.  Why  shouldn't  we 
rejoice  in  the  flesh  ?  Isn't  it  divine  V  Give 
good  flesh,  and  we  have  a  good  mind,  (rive 
poor  flesh,  and  of  what  value  is  the  soul  ?  I 
don't  want  to  be  born  again.  I'd  rather 
stick  to  the  first  birth,  and  revel  in  the  blood 
that  it  gives  me." 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  body  like  yours,  Willie. 
I  feel  like  a  shadow  myself.  It  sometimes 
seems  as  if  I  was  going  to  melt  away." 

Her  delicate  and  frail  body  did  contrast 
with  the  sturdy  and  almost  giant  frame  of 
her  brother.  She  was  like  a  lily  indeed, 
swaying  in  the  wind ;  and  almost  any  rude 
blast  might  take  her  off,  while  her  brother 
seemed  capable  of  enduring  any  storm.  His 
strong  body  kept  him  in  perfect  and  health- 
ful contact  with  nature ;  while  her  delicate, 
and  slightly  diseased  organization  was  the 
source  of  fantastic  and  melancholy  visions 
and  thoughts.  But  her  mind  was  highly 
cultivated,  and  being  free  from  any  super- 
stition she  did  not  suffer  as  she  otherwise 
might.  She  did  not  believe  in  any  God  out- 
side of  nature,  and  so  was  not  tortured  by 
any  anxiety  concerning  her  relations  toward 
him.  She  touched  nature  fully  and  frankly, 
and  had  no  fear ;  while  her  finely  wrought 
spirit  seemed  to  realize  more  of  the  subtle 
lights  and  shades  of  the  universe  than  the 
mind  of  her  brother.  She  had  an  element 
within  her  of  that  mysterious  genius  that 
somehow  seems  to  be  lighted  with  fires  from 
the  innermost  soul  of  things,  and  knows  by 
flashes  of  intuition.  Evidently,  some  great 
sorrow  had  swept  over  her.  She  had  passed 
through  hours  of  immense  agony.  But  now 
she  was  calm,  like  a  sweet  lake  hidden  in  the 
bosom  of  mighty  hills.  There  was  an  un- 
fathomable depth  in  the  expression  of  her 
brilliant  eyes. 

How  differently  her  brother  looked  1  He 
was  a  genuine  man  from  head  to  foot.  He 
had  always  enjoyed  life,  as  a  strong  swim- 
mer does  the  sea.  He  was  ready  for  any  for- 
tune and  for  any  blow.  Put  him  in  the 


20 


GOLDEN    THRONE. 


midst  of  the  Atlantic,  with  but  a  single 
plank,  and  somehow  he  would  make  his  way 
ashore ;  and,  if  he  landed  on  a  desert  island, 
he  would  build  him  a  house,  and  make  out 
to  live  comfortably.  This  life  to  him  was 
all  in  all.  He  had  no  thought  beyond  the 
present  world.  Ke  expected  when  he  died 
to  return  to  dust.  His  father  and  mother 
both  were  infidels  of  the  "straitest  sect," 
and  gave  him  nothing  to  hope  for  beyond 
nature.  Hence  his  organization  and  mind 
were  thoroughly  adapted  to  his  surroundings. 
His  education  had  been  complete.  Not  a 
single  moment  had  been  wasted  upon  the- 
ology. He  had  never  entered  a  church,  or 
spent  one  breath  in  prayer.  He  had  always 
walked  upright.  He  had  read  the  best  of 
books,  and  understood  the  system  of  nature 
as  it  really  is ;  but  he  was  gloriously  igno- 
rant of  metaphysics,  and  all  the  quiddities 
of  the  philosophers. 

He  was,  therefore,  a  royal  good  fellow. 
Meet  him  anywhere,  and  he  would  give  you 
a  cheery  greeting.  When  he  swore,  he 
swore  with  such  splendid  gusto  that  it  would 
destroy  the  melancholy  effects  of  a  thousand 
sermons,  and  make  one  feel  better.  There 
was  so  much  genuine  justice  and  sincer- 
ity in  what  he  thundered  forth.  Besides, 
he  could  be  as  gentle  as  a  woman,  and 
serve  any  suffering  mortal  with  infinite 
kindness. 

How  happily  they  lived  together, —  these 
two  strangely  contrasted  yet  harmonious 
souls!  Subtle  links  of  thrilling  and  fine 
associations  bound  them  together. 

They  sat  closely  while  the  night  came  on, 
and  the  moon  in  silver  glory  shone  in  the 
cloudless  blue.  It  was  a  fascinating  scene. 
The  hoary  mountains  seemed  to  sleep  in 
the  calm  splendor,  freighted  with  wondrous 
dreams,  as  if  the  gleaming  life  of  centuries 
was  throbbing  in  their  mystic  veins.  How 
deeply  nature  moves  the  soul  at  times  in  her 
mighty  repose!  Then,  indeed,  does  the 
"  feeling  infinite  "  stir  and  exalt,  even  more 
than  when  we  see  nature  in  her  superb  ac- 
tivity. There  is  an  unspeakable  power  in 
silence,  especially  the  silence  of  great  hills 


and  vast  forests.  The  voiceless  glory  fills 
the  heart  with  unutterable  emotions. 

The  great  expanse  swept  before  these  two 
brooding  and  communing  spirits.  They 
talked  fitfully,  while  possessed  with  the 
sweet  and  ineffable  thoughts  of  the  hour. 

"This  is  intoxicating,"  said  Madeline. 
"  The  moonlight  is  like  wine.  I  do  not  won- 
der that  Luna  makes  lunatics,  if  they  dwell 
too  long  in  her  presence.  I  feel  the  enchant- 
ment myself  with  a  strange  fever  in  my 
blood." 

"It  is  delicious,  but  it  makes  one  feel 
shadowy.  It  is  the  moonlight  that  makes 
the  gods,  I  think,  and  is  the  mother  of  super- 
stition. In  the  broad  daylight,  we  are  our- 
selves, we  have  no  fears;  but  now  how 
haunted  everything  seems  to  be,  and  yet 
how  beautiful  it  all  is ! " 

"Beautiful,  indeed;  and  I'm  sure  it  is 
delightful  to  be  haunted  by  these  wonderful 
imaginations.  I  like  to  think  that  nature 
is  a  vast  palace,  and  to  roam  away  through 
her  glittering  halls.  And  is  it  not  a  palace? 
Are  not  these  mountains  and  these  rocks 
jewelled?  Nature  is  order;  and,  if  we  could 
see  her  as  she  really  is,  would  she  not  seem 
ever  in  her  rudest  aspect  to  be  as  magnifi- 
cent as  anything  that  we  call  a  work  of  art?" 

"  That's  a  question.  Nature  is  order ;  but 
from  our  stand-point  she  is  both  good  and 
bad.  She  helps  us,  and  she  hurts  us.  She 
gives  us  birth,  and  she  destroys  us.  I  trust 
in  nature,  and  yet  I  hope  to  make  her  better 
than  she  is.  She  furnishes  the  raw  material ; 
but  we  have  to  make  the  ideals/' 

"  So  art  is  superior  to  nature  in  that 
sense,  I  suppose ;  but,  as  Shakspere  says,  it 
is  perhaps  a  greater  nature  that  works  upon 
us  to  do  these  things.  But,  if  our  humanity 
is  greater  thaji  nature,  there  is  nothing 
greater  than  our  humanity.  That,  after  all, 
is  the  fountain  of  wonder." 

"We  are  a  mystery:  that  I  admit.  I 
never  expect  to  explain  the  universe.  I 
have  to  say  I  don't  know  to  a  thousand 
questions,  and  I  must  say  that  I  find  very 
little  satisfaction  in  those  systems  of  phi- 
losophy that  profess  to  make  everything  un- 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


21 


derstandable.  They  either  do  so  by  making 
the  universe  a  very  small  affair ;  or  it  is  a 
mere  play  of  words,  and  equivalent  to  say- 
ing that  heat  is  caloric.  This  is  all  the  in- 
formation that  they  deign  to  give." 

"  Well,  whatever  nature  is,  I  rejoice  that 
I  can  some  time  lie  upon  her  bosom  and  be 
at  rest.  I  feel  like  saying  with  the  noble 
English  thinker  whose  books  I  have  just 
been  reading,  *  I  was  not  and  I  was  con- 
ceived, I  loved  and  did  a  little  work.  I  am 
not,  and  I  grieve  not.'  I  sometimes  think 
that  it  would  be  tedious  to  live  forever.  I 
should  get  tired  even  of  growing.  We  de- 
sire change;  and  therefore,  in  the  end,  we 
shall  desire  the  greatest  of  all  changes,  the 
change  from  life  to  death." 

"  I  am  ready  for  death,  even  as  I  am  ready 
for  life,  provided  that  it  comes  by  law,  and 
not  by  my  own  carelessness  ;  and  so  I  don't 
want  to  die  of  fever  or  accident,  but  of 
good  old  age.  And  I  think  that  everybody 
after  arriving  at  old  age  would  be  perfectly 
willing  to  die.  The  curse  of  death  is  dying 
not  through  the  law,  but  because  we  break 
the  law." 

"  Death  is  beautiful  and  terrible,  even  like 
life  itself ;  and  its  beauty,  like  the  beauty  of 
life,  depends  upon  our  obedience  to  nature. 
Death  might  be  like  the  blooming  of  a 
flower,  a  rich  effulgence  into  something  so 
fine  that  we  cannot  be  conscious  of  it." 

How  wonderfully  thought  flows  on  into  a 
thousand  sparkling  channels,  when  the  soul 
is  touched  by  the  weird  and  beautiful  aspects 
of  this  visible  world  1  Whether  mind  comes 
first  or  matter,  who  can  tell ;  yet  this  is  true, 
that  mind  cannot  discourse  apart  from  mat- 
ter, and  it  is  when  matter  is  most  magni- 
ficent and  potent  that  the  mind  is  the  most 
illustrious  and  commanding.  Yet  mind 
seeks  mind,  and  through  the  contact  of  one 
conscious  existence  with  another  what  glo- 
ries are  evolved,  what  visions  are  flung  forth, 
what  fire  is  struck  that  illuminates  the 
world ! 

So  they  sat  in  the  radiant  presence  of  nat- 
ure, of  the  moon  and  the  stars  and  the  lim- 
itless sky,  and  the  great  mountains  and 


the  shadowy  forests, —  like  two  fearless  chil- 
dren, they  sat  and  discoursed  of  the  lights 
and  shadows  of  the  infinite  universe  from 
whence  they  sprang,  jubilant  because  life  was 
theirs  for  one  sweet  moment,  and  submis- 
sive because  they  knew  that  all  cries  and 
tears  would  be  in  vain,  that  fate  went  on, 
whatever  our  desire  might  be,  and  therefore 
the  wisest  way  is  to  let  the  desire  flow  in 
harmony  with  fate.  If  it  is  not  the  best, 
still  the  brave  and  patient  soul  must  make 
the  best  of  it,  and  surrender  the  ideal  and 
accept  the  real.  The  universe  is  probably 
not  so  good  as  it  might  be,  still  it  is  infi- 
nitely rich  and  wonderful,  and,  in  spite  of  all 
its  wrongs  and  miseries,  the  breath  of  life 
we  have  upon  its  bosom  is  very  sweet,  so 
sweet  that  we  would  fain  preserve  it  a  little 
longer:  therefore,  how  thankful  we  should 
be  for  the  exhilarating  glory  of  which  we  are 
permitted  to  quaff.  Let  us  not  find  fault 
that  we  cannot  drink  forever. 

With  these  wise  and  quiet  thoughts,  and 
with  tender  and  courageous  surrender  to 
nature;  with  no  prayer,  but  submission  to 
law,  and  a  determination  to  enjoy  its  many 
fruits,  the  brother  and  sister  retired  to 
peaceful  slumber ;  and  just  as  quietly  and 
courageously,  with  no  prayers  nor  tears, 
would  they  have  gone  to  sleep,  if  they  had 
known  that  that  sleep  would  have  no 
waking. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  morning  came  fresh  and  sparkling 
from  the  bosom  of  the  infinite  life.  From 
the  solemn  silence  awoke  a  world  of  music. 
How  wonderful  it  all  is !  The  march  of  day 
and  night,  when  did  it  begin  in  the  far  ages 
out  of  the  rolling  chaos  ?  and  when  will  the 
musical  motion  come  to  an  end  ?  Some  time, 
of  course ;  but  always  the  atoms  dance  to  the 
measureless  melody  of  existence.  And, 
though  day  and  night  pass,  yet  new  glories 
will  advance  to  take  their  place. 

Bill,  the  miner,  was  up  early,  as  was  his 
wont ;  for  he  liked  to  greet  the  sun  as  it  came 
flaming  over  the  distant  hill-tops.  Madeline 
usually  was  up  with  him,  and  busy  about 
their  simple  morning  meal ;  but  now  she  did 


99 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


not  greet  him  with  her  ready  smile.  He 
wondered  a  bit,  but  supposed  that  she  was 
wearied,  and  desired  a  longer  repose  than 
usual.  So  he  quietly  kept  at  work,  and  in- 
deed prepared  the  breakfast,  and  yet  she 
did  not  appear.  He  tapped  gently  at  her 
door.  No  answer  came,  and  so  he  softly 
opened  it. 

How  beautifully  she  lay  in  gentle  slumber  I 
Almost  like  a  marble  statue,  so  still,  so  white. 
Evidently,  she  was  in  a  deep  sleep,  which 
was  unusual  for  one  of  her  bright  and  active 
temperament.  With  a  little  uneasiness,  he 
approached  her  bedside.  Then  a  vague  ter- 
ror seized  him  as  he  touched  the  so  silent 
form.  Then  he  knew,  as  he  pressed  the  icy 
splendor  of  her  brow,  that  she  was  —  dead. 

It  was  awful,  as  if  a  knife  had  pierced  his 
heart ;  and  the  blood  almost  stopped  in  his 
veins,  and  he  himself  seemed  dead,  the 
shock  was  so  sudden  and  so  terrible.  Then 
he  flung  himself  passionately  upon  her 
bosom,  and  wept  like  a  child. 

How  cold  all  the  sunshine  seemed  now ! 
What  a  spirit  was  gone  out  of  the  things 
that  were  once  so  thrilling.  O  death !  Talk 
as  we  may,  it  is  a  fearful  tragedy :  it  is  that 
which  makes  life  an  intense  agony  as  well 
as  an  intense  joy.  It  is  an  unexplainable 
horror.  We  submit  to  it  because  we  must. 

But,  if  we  could  remove  the  terror,  we 
would ;  for  we  see  no  flowers  springing  from 
the  grave,  except  those  that  we  plant  and 
water  with  our  tears.  Surely,  death  is  not 
the  outcome  of  an  infinite  benevolence. 
Th*re  could  be  no  such  sundering  of  our 
affections,  if  there  were  a  God  in  the  uni- 
verse ;  for  our  affections  in  themselves  are 
pure,  and  should  ever  flow  to  the  most  ample 
enjoyment,  and  no  God  could  be  so  cruel  as 
to  bring  death  into  the  midst  of  such  en- 
nobling happiness.  The  fact  of  death  is 
proof  that  there  is  no  God :  it  is  the  one  fact 
that  absolute  perfection  would  not  brook. 
There  is  no  rainbow  over  death :  it  is  the 
sad  inevitable,  it  is  the  law  of  decay,  it  is 
the  infinite  sorrow  of  fate.  There  must  be 
action  and  reaction  in  the  universe,  growth 
and  decomposition.  The  blooming  of  this 


renders  necessary  the  destruction  of  that : 
this  is  all  that  we  can  guess  at,  and  the  only 
wise  philosophy  that  we  can  adopt  is  to 
enjoy  the  blooming  to  the  utmost  when  it 
comes  ;  and,  when  the  blast  pierces,  then  we 
must  submit.  Prayers  will  avail  nothing,  nor 
any  belief  we  may  try  to  have  concerning 
the  unsounded  woe. 

Madeline's  brother  let  the  agony  sweep 
over  him.  He  did  not  try  to  resist.  He 
clasped  the  dear  form,  but  he  knew  that  life 
would  never  return.  He  did  not  expect  to 
see  that  noble  spirit  again.  Hereafter,  it 
could  dwell  only  in  memory.  It  seemed  un- 
endurable that  so  much  should  be  taken  out 
of  his  life,  that  such  a  fountain  of  joy 
should  cease  to  flow. 

It  was  the  greatest  sorrow  of  his  life. 
When  his  father  and  mother  died,  he  ex- 
pected them  to  pass  away ;  for  they  were  old. 
and  the  full  fruit  of  their  lives  had  been 
borne,  and  it  seemed  but  natural  that  they 
should  drop  into  the  grave,  since  the  best 
had  been  accomplished,  though  even  then 
the  sorrow  was  keen  and  overwhelming.  But 
his  sister  was  all  in  all  to  his  affectionate 
soul.  He  lived  and  dreamed  and  hoped  in 
her,  and  she  was  a  constant  inspiration  and 
delight.  Now,  she  was  cut  off  in  the  very 
exquisite  blossom  of  her  being,  and  there 
was  no  amelioration  to  the  sorrow  that 
flooded  him  like  a  desolate  sea.  He  sat  by 
her  bedside  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  while  these 
strange  and  bitter  thoughts  rolled  over  him, 
while  he  kissed  her  and  stroked  her  brow  as 
if  she  was  still  alive.  He  was  unconscious 
of  the  hours  as  they  swept  by.  It  seemed 
scarcely  a  moment ;  and  yet,  when  a  knock 
at  the  door  aroused  him,  he  found  that  it 
was  past  noon. 

He  went  to  greet  the  somewhat  unwelcome 
visitor,  but  he  was  glad  to  find  that  it 
was  his  friend  Charlie.  His  presence  was  a 
blessing  in  that  unhappy  moment.  It  re- 
called him  to  the  living  world. 

"  She  is  dead,"  was  all  that  he  could  say,  as 
he  grasped  the  hand  of  Charlie. 

"Dead?    Your  sister ?" 

"Yes." 


GOLDEN   THKONE. 


23 


"How  did  it  happen?" 

"  I  cannot  tell.  It  came  as  sudden  as  light- 
ning." 

For  several  moments,  not  a  word  was 
spoken.  There  was  only  the  intense  sympa- 
thy of  soul  with  soul,  of  which  any  expression 
is  useless.  It  is  that  which  must  be  felt,  not 
uttered.  "  Please  go  for  Jennie.  She  must 
come  at  once.  Madeline  must  be  prepared 
for  her  burial.  It  is  all  over  with,  and 
I  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Charlie. 

Jennie  Baker  was  the  wife  of  Tim  Baker, 
the  saloon-keeper,  and  one  'of  the  rich,  rare 
souls  of  the  world.  She  was  rough-looking, 
and  hardly  ever  wore  anything  but  a  calico 
dress,  and  not  a  very  clean  one  at  that ;  but 
her  face,  though  homely,  was  exceedingly 
pleasant,  there  was  so  much  good-nature  in 
it.  She  was  always  ready  to  help  anybody 
in  distress.  She  would  sit  up  all  night  long 
with  any  poor  devil  that  was  sick,  and  treat 
him  as  tenderly  as  if  he  were  her  own  child. 
She  had  a  constitution  of  iron,  and  could  en- 
dure almost  any  fatigue.  She  never  prayed, 
but  very  often  swore,  yet  at  times  she 
showed  the  tenderness  of  the  most  refined 
woman.  She  was  a  jewel  indeed,  brightly 
flashing  in  the  rough  world  by  which  she 
was  surrounded,  a  creature  of  that  world 
reflecting  all  its  sadnesses,  and  yet  resplen- 
dent with  perfect  womanhood. 

With  deft  hands,  she  prepared  the  beauti- 
ful Madeline  for  her  grave.  Madeline  had 
been  so  retiring  in  her  disposition  that  she 
had  scarcely  been  seen  by  any  one  at  Golden 
Throne,  and  it  is  probable  that  Jennie  had 
never  caught  more  than  a  passing  glimpse  of 
her,  yet  a  mother  could  not  have  more  ten- 
derly cared  for  the  body.  How  beautiful  it 
looked  in  the  calm  majesty  of  death  !  After 
the  first  horror  has  passed,  what  an  awful 
and  sweet  radiance  there  is  in  the  everlast- 
ing sleep,  what  sublimity  of  repose !  The 
waves  of  life  have  ceased,  and  as  in  a  mir- 
ror something  of  the  unseen  glory  of  the 
universe  is  witnessed.  The  imagination 
cannot  stop  with  the  rigid  flesh.  It  weaves 
a  glorious  world  from  the  pregnant  silence. 


While  Jennie  was  performing  her  gentle 
offices  within,  the  two  miners  walked  with- 
out the  cottage,  seeking  in  fitful  conversa- 
tion and  the  mighty  forms  of  nature  some 
relief  from  the  intense  sorrow. 

"  What  should  we  do  in  these  hours  of  ter- 
rible suffering,"  said  Will,  "without  the 
mountains  and  the  sea  and  the  sky  ?  They 
are  like  a  part  of  us,  and  out  of  their  vast 
life  give  us  courage  and  consolation." 

"And  yet,  I  sometimes  question,"  said 
Charlie,  "  is  it  we  that  give  the  consolation, 
or  is  it  really  the  mountains  and  the  sea  ? 
Are  they  living,  in  some  sense,  as  we  live? 
Or  are  they  but  inert  masses,  and  merely  re- 
flections of  our  inward  thought  ?  " 

"I  believe  they  are  actually  living,"  said 
Will,  who  had  something  of  the  poet's  in- 
sight as  well  as  the  practical  scientific  out- 
look of  modern  days. 

"  But  isn't  such  a  belief  a  matter  of  pure 
faith  ?  And  is  there  any  more  reason  for  be- 
lieving in  a  spiritual  life  in  nature,  than  in 
a  God?"  asked  Charlie,  who,  in  his  revul- 
sion from  Orthodoxy,  was  not  disposed  to 
believe  in  much  of  anything  either  in  man 
or  nature. 

"  I  admit  that  it  is  belief  simply,  and  not 
knowledge,"  answered  Will.  "  Yet  does  not 
science  to-day  reveal  a  wonderful  life  in 
nature  ?  When  I  read  Tyndall,  Huxley,  Dar- 
win, I  am  amazed  at  the  magnificence  of 
power  in  which  the  world  seems  to  be  con- 
stantly revelling.  It  is  eternal  motion,  and 
it  is  eternal  beauty.  Science  makes  these 
mountains  infinitely  more  than  what  they 
are  to  our  bare  sight,  and  yet  to  our  bare 
sight  how  beautiful !  Belief  carried  along 
in  the  line  of  our  knowledge  and  in  har- 
mony with  our  hope  is,  to  a  certain  extent, 
justifiable.  It  is  belief  made  without  knowl- 
edge and  in  obedience  to  prejudice  and  fear 
that  has  cursed  the  world.  Oar  knowledge 
is  continually  advancing.  Shall  we  not,  by 
imagination,  anticipate  some  of  its  brightest 
results?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  if  such  be  our  mood,  and 
we  don't  do  it  on  compulsion,  but  obey  our 
own  sweet  will.  I  admit  that  the  mountains 


24 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


give  a  certain  sense  of  power ;  yet,  after  all, 
they  are  but  bare,  rocky  forms,  and  will 
tumble  upon  us  and  crush  us  without  re- 
morse. What  there  is  of  apparent  friendli- 
ness in  nature  we  make  out  of  our  own 
wishes.  We  think  she  gives  us  bread.  She 
gives  us  only  a  stone.  We  make  the  bread, 
if  we  have  any;  and  we  live  on  fancy. 
Nature  is  a  hard  fact.  She'll  drown  us 
without  compunction,  if  we  tumble  into  her 
seas.  She  never  yet  performed  a  miracle  to 
swive  life." 

"  And  never  will :  if  she  did,  her  true  glory 
would  be  gone,  for  then  chaos  would  reign. 
Kature  is  law,  I  admit,  and  in  that  sense  is 
u  hard  fact.  She  will  not  save  us :  we  must 
save  ourselves  by  the  obedience  to  her  law. 
If  we  do  not  obey,  then  the  law  breaks  us ; 
and  it  would  break  God  as  quickly  as  us,  if 
there  were  such  a  being.  So  God  can  do  no 
good  as  against  a  law  of  nature.  God  could 
only  serve  us  through  nature  as  a  sort  of 
priest  to  nature,  and  I  think  we  can  serve 
ourselves  fully  as  well;  for,  if  we  disobey 
nature,  God  can't  help  us,  and,  if  we  obey 
nature,  she  is  bountiful  of  her  own  self." 

"  I  see  you  are  what  they  call  an  optimist. 
You  are  always  hopeful,  and  look  upon  the 
bright  side  of  things.  I  must  confess  that 
I  am  down-hearted  at  times,  and  almost  cry 
out  in  despair,  the  world  is  so  dreary  to  me, 
and  life  seems  such  a  pitiable  failure.  It 
wouldn't  help  the  matter  for  me  to  believe 
in  a  God.  I  think  if  there  is  one  he  has 
proved  himself  an  arrant  humbug,  for  he 
lets  things  go  to  the  bad  in  a  most  contempt- 
ible way.  He  does  not  improve  nature ;  and, 
if  he  exists,  he  only  makes  the  tragedy  more 
desperate." 

"  I'm  not  an  optimist,  in  the  sugar  and  mo- 
lasses sense  of  that  term.  I  do  not  believe 
that  everything  is  all  right ;  nor  that  nature 
takes  care  of  us,  like  a  loving  father ;  nor  do 
I  see  in  nature  evidence  of  a  nobler  or  more 
powerful  intelligence  or  will  than  in  man. 
I  only  recognize  in  nature  an  overflowing  and 
abundant  life,  that  makes  order,  beauty,  de- 
light, and  comfort,  if  we  can  only  grasp  and 
enjoy  them  by  what  we  ourselves  do.  1  do  not 


believe  that  nature  was  made  for  us  or  that 
we  are  the  supreme  thing  in  the  universe,  to 
which  everything  else  must  bend.  We  are  only 
parts  of  a  stupendous  whole,  and  it  is  impos- 
sible for  us  to  know  the  origin  or  the  end  of 
that  whole.  We  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  final  causes  :  that's  nonsense.  We  are 
in  the  midst  of  nature,  with  her  infinite  law 
and  her  infinite  life,  to  take  care  of  our- 
selves; and  from  our  stand-point,  and  in  our 
experience,  there  are  many  things  that  are 
wrong,  and  we  can't  trust  to  nature  to  remove 
them.  We  must  trust  to  our  humanity." 

"  I  don't  feel  much  like  trusting  our  hu- 
manity. I  think  humanity  is  a  humbug  too, 
as  well  as  God." 

"  There,  I  say,  you  are  mistaken.  God  is  a 
humbug,  because  he's  a  mere  creature  of  the 
imagination ;  but  humanity  is  a  fact.  Don't 
you  believe  that  a  fact  is  of  some  value  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  sometimes  think  with 
a  certain  Frenchman  that  I'm  a  phantasy 
floating  on  the  bosom  of  an  infinite  phan- 
tasy. Really,  I  sometimes  hardly  believe 
that  I  exist,  but  am  only  a  nightmare." 

"  Your  Orthodoxy  has  indeed  been  a  curse 
to  you,  and  I  don't  wonder.  It  tries  to 
make  things  right,  but  at  what  a  violation 
of  justice !  It  is  not  strange  that  it  drives 
men  to  intellectual  despair,  and  destroys 
all  confidence  and  makes  existence  like  a 
troubled  dream.  Infidelity  simply  accepts 
nature,  good  and  bad :  it  doesn't  try  to 
explain  away  the  bad,  and  in  so  doing  ex- 
plain away  the  good  also.  It  takes  nature 
as  a  reality,  and  takes  evil  as  a  reality ;  and 
so  it  finds  good  a  reality.  I  accept  the  evil 
of  things,  and  I  don't  propose  to  explain  it 
away  into  an  airy  nothing,  but  to  fight  it  as 
a  stubborn  opponent.  I  am  an  optimist  only 
in  the  sense  that  we  can  get  the  better  of 
evil  things,  provided  we  work  hard  enough 
and  have  plenty  of  patience  and  pluck ;  but 
I'm  not  an  optimist  in  the  sense  that  there's 
no  such  thing  as  evil.  Such  an  optimist  is, 
I  think,  a  fool,  who  avoids  the  real  universe 
and  dwells  in  a  world  of  fine  phrases.  A 
pessimist  who  believes  the  world  is  the 
worst  possible,  and  fights  the  devil  with  his 


GOLDEN  THBONE. 


25 


neart  full  of  despair,  is  preferable  to  one  who 
airs  his  selfishness  in  such  a  slush  of  words." 

"  And  isn't  it  the  worst  possible  universe 
where  there  is  such  a  thing  as  death? 
What  can  be  more  horrible  than  that.  If 
we  did  not  love,  then  we  might  die  without 
pain ;  but,  loving,  what  a  curse,  what  a  curse 
it  is  to  die !  " 

"  Yet  the  loving  is  good  at  any  rate.  For 
that  I  am  thankful;  and  loving  may  be 
most  sweet,  because  we  love  in  the  midst  of 
danger  and  separation." 

"  Is  it  not  your  power  of  loving  that  gives 
you  the  most  awful  pain  ?  " 

"It  is,  and  such  seems  inevitable.  The 
greatest  joy  is  mingled  with  the  greatest 
suffering." 

"  But  need  it  be  so  ?"        , 

"Why  ask  that?  We  cannot  judge  of 
necessity.  We  can  only  know  what  is.  We 
cannot  say  this  universe  might  have  been 
better,  any  more  than  we  can  say  it  might 
have  been  worse ;  for  it  was  not  born  of  will, 
it  was  not  made.  It  simply  is.  it  can't 
change  itself,  nor  can  we  change  it.  It's 
useless  to  discuss  possibilities." 

'•But  isn't  human  perfection  a  mere  pos- 
sibility?" 

"  It  is,  as  some  people  dream  of  it ;  and  so 
it's  a  waste  of  time  to  consider  it.  But  prog- 
ress is  not  a  mere  possibility,  but  a  proba- 
bility and  a  matter  of  fact.  All  the  perfec- 
tion that  I  think  of  is  progress.  Where 
there's  no  progress  there's  no  perfection,  and 
where  there's  no  evil  there's  no  progress,  and 
so  perfection  and  evil  are  inextricably  inter- 
twined. They  must  go  together.  Don't 
you  see  ?  " 

"  It's  pretty  well  mixed  up,  that's  a  fact. 
We  must  be  sick  in  order  to  get  well,  and 
getting  well  is  perhaps  the  happiest  phase  of 
human  existence.  What  a  confounded  puz- 
zle life  is  1 " 

"  When  the  puzzle  ceases,  life  ceases.  If 
we  could  unravel  the  universe,  what  a  sorry 
affair  it  would  be !  But  it  is  everlastingly 
woven  with  a  million  colors,  with  a  million 
patterns,  now  bright,  now  dark ;  and  this  is 
the  food  of  thought." 


"Don't  you  try  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
death  by  thinking  that  it  may  be  a  new 
form  of  life,  and  that  you  and  your  sister 
will  meet  again  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,  because  I  cannot.  My  mind 
cannot  accept  the  conclusion,  though  my 
heart  perhaps  yearns  for  it.  I  have  not  the 
slightest  evidence  that  such  is  the  case,  and 
therefore  I  have  no  ground  for  hope,  and  do 
not  hope.  It  is  not  the  future  that  becomes 
sweet  to  me  through  death,  but  the  past.  I 
think  now  of  what  she  has  been  more  deeply 
than  ever  before,  but  not  of  what  she 
will  be." 

"  You  endure  it  bravely." 

"Because  I  cannot  help  it.  If  prayers 
and  tears  could  bring  her  back,  I  would 
shake  these  mountains  with  my  petitions. 
I  am  not  ashamed  to  weep,  if  weeping  would 
do  any  good.  I  did  weep,  when  the  blow 
first  came.  I  let  the  hot  tears  flow.  They 
did  me  good.  I  was  like  a  child.  But  why 
should  I  continue  to  lament  ?  Life  is  ever 
new,  and  1  must  meet  it  with  new  hope  and 
new  desire." 

"  I  never  saw  your  sister.  She  was  retiring 
and  was  not  fond  of  company,  and  I  could  not 
think  of  intruding  upon  your  privacy.  You 
know  how  we  are  in  this  wild  life.  Why,  we 
scarcely  know  each  other's  names  yet.  I  call 
you  Bill,  and  I'm  Charlie.  That's  enough. 
What  are  names,  where  we  have  so  much 
reality  and  so  little  ceremony.  In  civilized 
life,  I  suppose  they  must  have  long  names, 
for  names  is  about  all  that  people  have  to 
get  acquainted  with,  and  so  they  need  han- 
dles and  titles ;  but  anything  will  do  here, 
since  we  deal  heart  with  heart,  and  put  on 
no  style.  Can  I  see  your  sister  now  ?  Our 
friendship  is  so  dear  that  I  would  have  hei 
image  in  my  memory." 

"  You  shall  see  Madeline,  and  remember  her 
with  me.  I  am  glad  you  have  such  a  wish." 

"Madeline!"  said  Charlie,  with  a  little 
start.  "  I  once  knew  a  Madeline.  She  was 
dear  to  me,  but  now  forgotten,  because  un- 
worthy." 

"  Then  this  Madeline  shall  take  her  place, 
for  she  is  worthy.'" 


26 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


The  two  men  walked  into  the  cabin.  Jen- 
nie met  them,  having  completed  her  sacred 
task  to  the  dead. 

"  Thank  you,  Jennie,"  said  Will,  as  he  took 
her  hand.  "  What  should  I  do  without  you 
in  this  sad  hour  ?  Is  she  ready  for  burial  ?  " 

"Yes,  sweet  as  an  angel,"  said  Jenny. 
"  She  seems  almost  living,  she  looks  so  beau- 
tiful." 

They  passed  to  the  room  where  she  lay, 
clothed  in  white  and  crowned  with  flowers. 

As  they  approached  the  bedside,  a  strange, 
wild  look  came  into  the  eyes  of  Charlie.  He 
stared  steadfastly  at  the  face  of  the  dead  girl. 
He  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"  My  God ! "  he  cried,  "  this  is  Madeline 
Burnham.  Is  your  name  Burnham?"  he 
said,  turning  to  Will. 

"Yes,  Will  Burnham;  and  what  is  your 
name?" 

"  Morton." 

"  Alas !  you  made  her  what  she  is." 

"  She  was  my  betrothed.  Oh,  how  I  loved 
her,  and  then  how  I  hated  her !  O  my  love, 
my  love,  this  is  agony  indeed  1  Have  I  been 
false,  or  you?"  And  he  flung  himself  pas- 
sionately at  her  bedside,  and  wailed  and 
sobbed  like  a  child. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  grief  of  a(  man,  how  strong  it  is, 
when  for  a  moment  he  is  overcome  by  the 
uttermost  anguish  of  life !  Mighty  indeed 
must  that  suffering  be,  which  can  so  break 
up  the  bulwarks  of  the  will,  and  the  world's 
rough  experience.  When  men  weep,  it  is 
because  they  have  been  struck  by  a  blow  that 
is  like  the  fierce  throb  of  an  earthquake. 
Burnham  was  amazed  and  silent,  the  reve- 
lation was  so  sudden  and  terrible.  It  tore 
through  him  like  the  breath  of  a  whirlwind. 
The  infinite  sorrow  of  his  sister's  life  rushed 
upon  his  mind  with  bitter  recollections.  The 
tragedy  was  wrought  again  that  darkened 
and  disordered  her  once  sunny  and  beautiful 
life,  that  so  racked  her  heart  and  brain  that 
disease  worked  its  subtle  course  until  it 
bloomed  in  the  white  lily  of  death. 

She  was  free  now. from  the  feverish  tor- 


ture. The  waves  of  suffering  broke  upon, 
but  did  not  disturb  her  marble  quiet,  while 
her  false  lover  was  writhing  at  her  feet. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  said  Morton,  as 
he  at  length  slowly  arose,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  his  dead  love.  "  Was  she  true,  and  was 
I  a  fool?  Oh,  how  heavenly  true  she  looks 
in  the  unveiled  majesty  of  death !  How  could 
I  have  been  deceived?  And  yet  I  was  hasty, 
I  distrusted  her  because  I  distrusted  the 
world.  Oh,  what  a  curse  it  is  to  lose  one's 
faith  I  Paradise  flashed  before  me,  and  1 
called  it  a  desert  and  turned  away.  O 
Madeline,  forgive  me  !  " 

"  It  is  too  late  now.  No  prayers  nor  tears 
can  recall  the  light  to  her  eyes  or  the  bless- 
ing to  her  lips.  O  man,  she  loved  you  as 
you  were  not  worthy  to  be  loved." 

"  And  I  loved  her  too, —  oh,  how  fondly, 
how  deeply  !  All  the  fountains  of  my  heart 
flowed  to  her.  She  was  the  ideal  of  my 
young  life." 

"  Yet  you  gave  her  up,  you  deserted  her." 

"  I  did,  because  I  thought  I  had  proof  that 
she  was  false." 

"  Why  did  you  accept  that  so-called  proof 
so  readily  ?  " 

"  Alas !  because  I  distrusted  all.  That  was 
the  disease  that  lurked  in  my  blood  and 
brain.  I  thought  it  wise  to  be  sceptical,  to 
laugh  at  human  goodness,  to  say  that  every 
man  had  his  price.  This  seemed  to  be  born 
in  me,  or  rather  it  was  the  result  of  my 
training ;  for  I  was  taught,  as  the  soul  of  Or- 
thodox religion,  that  every  one  was  totally 
depraved.  And  when,  by  force  of  reasoning, 
I  rejected  the  theology  of  my  parents,  that 
saddest,  deepest  lesson  of  all  I  retained.  I 
could  not  get  rid  of  it,  I  looked  upon  men  as 
almost  brutes.  I  believed  Madeline  an  ex- 
ception ;  but,  when  I  heard  the  cunningly 
devised  tale  against  her  truth,  then  my  dis- 
trust of  all  destroyed  my  trust  in  her,  and 
she  seemed  no  better  than  the  rest;  and  in 
my  wild  anger  I  left  her,  never  to  return." 

UI  was  but  young  then,  and  knew  you 
not,  for  you  met  and  became  acquainted 
with  each  other  at  the  Academy  ;  and,  when 
you  visited  home,  I  was  away.  This  is  the 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


27 


first  time  I  have  seen  you.  Oh,  how  I  hated 
you!  She  loved  you,  she  waited  for  you, 
and  when  you  came  not  the  hope  of  her  life 
was  quenched.  The  light  of  her  soul  seemed 
to  fade  out,  and  a  gradual  and  gentle  insan- 
ity came  over  her;  while  the  brightness 
of  her  intellect  was  undiminished.  She 
brooded  over  you.  Her  life  was  fixed  to 
you.  Your  desertion  left  her  like  a  wreck, 
to  slowly  waste  away  as  the  waves  of  time 
broke  over  her." 

"I  was  a  wretch  indeed, —  a  blinded, 
passionate  fool, —  the  victim  of  my  own  in- 
sensate wisdom,  of  what  I  called  my  shrewd- 
ness. After  leaving  her,  I  was  only  worse, 
more  bitter  in  my  disbelief.  I  have  looked 
only  upon  the  meanest  side  of  humanity,  upon 
all  its  foibles  and  failings.  My  life  has  been 
a  mockery,  in  spite  of  its  successes.  Now,  I 
am  stripped  bare.  My  pride  and  my  self- 
ishness are  gone.  I  have  been  a  contempt- 
ible blunderer.  I  have  crushed  the  flower 
that  I  might  have  worn  as  the  eternal  jewel 
of  my  soul.  O  Madeline,  thou  canst  not 
hear,  and  yet  thou  art,  I  know.  Death  can- 
not dissolve  thee  into  nothingness.  Yet, 
whatever  or  wherever  thou  art,  I  choose 
thee  for  my  angel,  for  the  constant  ideal  of 
my  life;  and,  through  thee,  I  will  under- 
stand the  worth  of  every  human  being,  and 
the  glory  that  there  is  in  the  least.  Burn- 
ham,  can  you  give  me  your  hand,  can  you 
forgive  me  ?  " 

"  I  thought  once  I  could  not, —  only  strike 
you  to  the  ground,  if  I  met  you ;  for  I  despised 
you  with  my  whole  heart.  If  I  had  known 
who  you  were  at  first,  I  should  have  scorned 
you.  I  have  learned,  however,  to  like  you. 
While  I  see  your  fatal  weakness,  and  the 
source  of  your  cruel  act,  I  can  see  that  you 
are  not  wholly  to  blame  ;  that  this  deep  dis- 
trust has  been  bred  in  you  by  the  religion  of 
your  fathers.  It  is  the  dread  reaction  from 
that  cursed  superstition  that  curses  blood 
and  brain  and  heart.  What  is  Orthodoxy  as 
it  was  taught  to  you,  as  it  is  taught  to  thou- 
sands, but  a  most  damnable  infidelity  to  all 
that  is  most  true  and  beautiful  V  Is  not  its 
foundation  stone  built  upon  the  most  cruel 


infamy  ?  Does  it  not  make  God  a  devil  and 
man  a  beast?  Does  it  not  stamp  us  with 
corruption  ?  Does  it  not  deny  every  natural 
grace,  and  make  nature  herself  a  charnel- 
house,  and  every  voice  a  discord  ?  Does  it 
not  make  the  skies  the  dreary  home  of  a 
dreary  monster?  Orthodoxy  is  the  most 
terrible  scepticism :  it  is  the  scepticism  of 
cowardice  and  the  infidelity  of  fear.  You 
are  its  victim ;  and  I  pity  you,  as  I  pity  a 
man  coming  from  a  prison-house,  dazed  and 
weak,  and  hardly  knowing  how  he  walks, 
and  tumbling  blindfold  into  the  pit.  You 
have  suffered,  and  yet  you  acted  I  suppose  in 
a  sort  of  sad  sincerity ;  and  what  was  so  harsh 
and  unmanly  seemed  right.  I  only  hope 
that  your  manhood  will  now  vindicate  itself. 
If  it  does  not,  then  I  cannot  be  your  friend ; 
and  I  do  not  care  to  see  you  any  more." 

"I  trust  that  I  shall  vindicate  my  man- 
hood. I  have  been  the  victim  of  a  hellish 
superstition,  a  savage  theology,  a  barbaric, 
almost  criminal  religion.  Years  ago,  I  freed 
my  mind  from  it.  I  saw  how  foolish  it  was. 
I  did  not  dream  that  it  had  such  a  power 
over  my  heart,  like  the  coils  of  a  hidden 
serpent,  that  it  so  deeply  poisoned  and  was 
poisoning  my  blood.  I  did  not  know  that 
it  colored  my  views  of  humanity,  and  made 
me  despise  men.  Never  did  I  as  now  so 
realize  its  infinite  curse.  It  has  robbed  me 
of  the  most  precious  thing  in  life.  It  has 
made  me  act  like  a  fiend.  I  will  rise  above 
it,  and  wring  it  from  my  heart  as  I  have 
thrust  it  from  my  brain.  I  will  strive  for 
the  simple  faith  that  nature  gives, —  a  faith 
that  springs  from  her  beauty  as  well  as  her 
terror,  and  is  the  foundation  of  human 
brotherhood.  I  take  your  hand.  Believe  me, 
in  the  presence  of  the  undying  dead,  I  swear 
to  honor  our  humanity  and  believe  in  it, 
even  though  there  is  a  devil  called  God  to 
slander  and  defraud  it.  O  Madeline,  1  take 
thy  lesson  to  my  heart.  In  the  white  radi- 
ance of  thy  death,  thou  shalt  be  to  me  a  glad 
impulse.  I  am  weak,  and  yet  I  will  be 
strong." 

"  I  know  you  will,  and  my  heart's  blood  is 
in  this  hand-grasp.  We  pluck  this  jewel, 


28 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


trust  in  one  another,  from  the  brow  of  death  ; 
and  it  shall  never  lose  its  brightness." 

With  no  prayers,  no  formal  ceremony,  no 
voice  of  a  priest,  the  dead  was  laid  away  in 
the  calm  bosom  of  the  hills.  Flowers  were 
strewn  over  the  grave,  and  honest  tears  were 
dropped  upon  them.  The  body  was  gone  to 
mingle  with  the  eternal  dance  of  atoms,  and 
flash  to  new  forms  again  with  the  ceaseless 
throb  of  life,  while  the  spirit  took  its  marble 
and  shining  seat  in  memory. 

There  was  no  need  of  any  clergyman 
with  his  mockery  of  lies  to  soften  the  blow 
and  speak  of  a  better  land.  The  human 
heart,  touched  by  affection,  bent  before  the 
simple  majesty  of  death.  It  acknowledged 
the  terror,  but  realized  also  the  ineffable 
sweetness  of  the  shrouded  life.  That  life 
was  beautiful  stiD,  though  viewless ;  and, 
somehow,  the  heart  of  nature  seemed  not  so 
cruel  as  when  first  the  blow  was  struck. 
Somehow,  death  softens  as  we  become  ac- 
customed to  its  awful  form;  and,  in  the 
midst  of  crushing  grief,  sublime  and  tender 
emotions  spring,  as  from  the  gloomy  ooze 
springs  the  shining  lily. 

"  Fare  thee  well,  my  sister,"  said  Will,  as 
he  stood  by  her  covered  grave.  "  These 
hands  can  never  touch  thee  again,  nor  these 
eyes  see.  Thou  art  gone,  thy  sweet  voice 
is  silent.  Dust  unto  dust, —  this  is  the  end. 
I  know  nothing  more,  I  can  hope  for  no 
more.  Earth  hath  taken  thee  to  swallow  up 
thine  individual  being.  I  have  wept,  but 
my  tears  are  now  dry ;  for  in  my  heart  there 
is  a  presence  that  can  never  go,  in  my  brain 
there  is  a  thought  that  cannot  die.  Thou 
art  still  a  part  of  my  glowing  life, —  not  the 
shadow,  but  the  substance  of  my  very  soul. 
In  my  love,  thou  art  immortal.  I  have  not 
lost  thee.  O  Nature,  from  whence  I  come, 
to  whom  I  go,  thou  hast  plucked  the  flower  of 
my  life  ;  but  I  will  not  complain.  I  accept 
thy  law.  While  I  live,  I  will  rejoice  in  thy 
myriad  glories ;  and,  when  Idle,  I  only  ask 
for  a  grave  as  peaceful  as  this." 

Close  by  Golden  Throne  is  a  vast  cafion 
of  a  wild,  peculiar  formation.  It  is  about 
ten  miles  in  length j  and  through  ^  flows  a 


limpid  stream.  At  the  very  mouth  of  the 
canon  is  what  is  called  the  Buried  Castle. 
It  seems  like  an  immense  and  time-worn 
building,  almost  submerged  in  dust  and 
accumulated  rubbish.  The  towers,  battle- 
ments, and  roofs,  rising  one  above  another, 
have  a  strangely  real  appearance.  As  the 
canon  narrows,  on  the  left  is  a  dome,  a 
mass  of  rock,  oval  at  the  summit,  which  rises 
hundreds  of  feet  into  the  air.  Half  a  mile 
further  on  is  "Who  Knows,"  a  huge  stone 
having  the  outlines  of  a  human  face,  with  a 
very  prominent  and  Vvell-shapen  nose.  It 
stands  close  to  the  ancient  trail.  Near  by 
are  Indian  hieroglyphics  on  the  side  of  a 
perpendicular  wall,  seventy-five  feet  from  the 
ground.  These  symbols  have  been  there  for 
so  long  a  time  that  the  Indians  inhabiting 
the  country  can  give  no  explanation  of  them, 
save  that  they  had  "always  been  there.1' 
The  rock  seems  to  have  been  chiselled  into, 
and  the  cavities  filled  with  indelible  paint. 
A  mile  further  is  the  Throne  Room.  This 
magnificent  indentation  is  about  two  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  ground,  in  the  side  of  a 
basaltic  wall  five  hundred  feet  high.  What 
a  grand  reception  hall,  of  which  no  king  can 
boast.  Its  beauties  and  grandeurs  are  in- 
describable. In  nearly  the  centre  of  the 
canon  is  Conscience  Pass.  Here,  walls  oi 
rock  tower  six  hundred  feet  high,  and  ap- 
proach so  closely  together  that  there  is 
barely  room  for  the  brook  and  the  narrow 
path  beside  it.  From  hence  toward  the 
West,  the  canon  widens  and  abounds  with 
noble  scenery.  In  the  summer,  its  declivi- 
ties are  clothed  with  verdure  and  flowers, 
and  its  pines  are  in  their  utmost  vigor. 

Morton  wandered  to  this  savage  and  mag- 
nificent spot.  He  desired  solitude  and  the 
most  awful  and  terrible  forms  of  nature. 
His  soul  was  tossing  like  an  ocean.  His 
grief,  his  remorse,  were  tremendous.  He 
flung  himself  upon  the  ground.  He  groaned 
aloud,  and  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  canon 
he  uttered  a  cry  like  that  of  a  wild  beast  in 
agony.  lie  sank  exhausted  upon  a  hard 
couch  of  rocks,  and  seemed  for  a  time  in- 
sensible. It  was  the  fearful  struggle  of  a 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


29 


pierced  and  quivering  human  spirit,  trying 
to  regain  its  hold  on  life  and  purpose.  He 
felt  at  times  as  if  he  were  growing  insane, 
so  horrible  were  the  feelings  that  swept  over 
him.  Only  by  sheer  effort  of  the  will  did 
he  at  last  arouse  himself,  saying,  "  I  must 
conquer."  He  climbed  to  the  Throne  Room, 
and  sat  amid  its  weird  and  fascinating  won- 
ders, like  a  discrowned  and  lonely  king. 
The  setting  sun  was  flooding  the  canon 
with  delicious  and  sparkling  gold;  mists 
rolled  over  the  resplendent  tops  of  the 
mountains;  clouds  tossed  and  revelled  like 
rich-laden  ships  in  the  immeasurable  blue 
beyond.  The  long  stretch  of  canon  seemed 
filled  with  a  thousand  hues.  The  forests 
were  refulgent,  as  if  with  the  jewelled  gar- 
ments of  a  monarch.  The  stones  all  about 
him,  the  flowers  and  the  verdure,  strange 
and  ancient  forms  almost  human  in  their 
aspect,  seemed  like  speaking  presences  in 
the  lustrous  fire  that  bathed  them.  It  was 
a  glittering,  inspiring,  powerful  scene,  fill- 
ing the  soul  as  if  with  the  nectar  of  the  gods. 

Morton  walked  to  and  fro  with  swift 
strides,  gathering  together  the  tumultuous 
and  mighty  energies  of  his  being,  seeking 
out  of  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  nature 
the  secret  of  regeneration  ;  for  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  "  being  born  again  "  in  a  high 
and  noble  sense, —  not  by  the  machinations 
of  men,  but  by  the  splendid  influx  of  nat- 
ure herself.  There  are  times  when  a  new 
purpose  arises  in  the  soul,  when  old  habits 
of  thought  are  flung  off  like  an  old  skin, 
and  the  soul  stands  naked  to  the  universe, 
either  to  be  crushed  or  clothed  upon  with 
new  and  vaster  possibilities,  and  a  fresh 
growth  begins.  Morton  was  in  one  of  these 
transcendent  moments.  The  fierce  blow  had 
flung  him  into  chaos.  The  old  world  could 
not  be  rebuilt.  There  must  be  something 
new,  or  only  a  wreck.  He  must  be  more 
high,  more  noble,  more  strong  than  before, 
or  sink. 

"O  Madeline,"  he  cried,  "how  my  life 
heaves  and  tosses  before  me  like  a  bewilder- 
ing sea, —  infancy,  childhood,  manhood  min- 
gling as  if  driven  by  a  storm !  What  glories, 


what  joys  I  have  had!  What  bitterness, 
what  pain !  Could  I  have  helped  this  ?  Was 
I  forced  to  it?  Could  I  not  have  chosen 
better,  and  plucked  the  flower  of  a  beautiful 
joy  ?  Too  late,  now !  Alas,  too  late !  The 
flower  is  gone,  withered,  dead.  The  past 
is  unchangeable  in  its  eternal  misery  and 
ruin.  We  may  knock,  but  we  can  never 
open  the  doors  to  life  there.  They  are  barred 
and  bolted,  and  so  will  ever  be.  Oh,  how 
hard  it  is  that  we  cannot  go  back,  and, 
through  the  winding  path  of  youth,  remedy 
our  mistakes.  Alas  that  they  must  ever  be ! 
Once  done,  never  to  be  undone,  while  the 
fearful  retribution  rolls  on.  Why  are  we 
made  living,  conscious  beings  to  suffer  so 
immeasurably?  Why  do  we  not  forget? 
Perhaps  we  shall,  some  time.  Ah,  I  do  not 
wish  to ;  for,  if  we  forget  the  evil,  we  must 
also  forget  the  good,  and  the  good  is  too 
sweet  ever  to  be  forgotten.  Let  me  keep  the 
evil,  if,  with  the  evil,  I  can  also  keep  the 
good.  I  cannot  forget  thy  smiles.  I  cannot 
forget  thy  sweetness.  I  cannot  forget  the 
thrilling  joy  that  I  once  had.  I  cannot  forget 
the  wondrous,  passionate  clasp  of  hand  and 
touch  of  lip.  Oh,  the  joys  of  the  past,  how 
immeasurably  greater  than  its  sorrows !  And 
from  their  bosom  hope  springs  flaming  forth. 
My  heart  is  not  dead.  It  leaps  to  action. 
It  would  try  the  future.  It  feels  the  creative 
force.  I  will  not  be  crushed.  I  will  accom- 
plish." 

He  drank  in,  as  if  from  a  goblet,  of  the 
jubilant  and  sparkling  scene  about  him. 
Slowly,  he  descended,  and  walked  along  the 
now  darkling  valley  with  buoyant  steps. 
He  neared  the  camp,  and  saw  some  of 
its  whitewashed  shanties  gleaming  faintly 
among  the  trees.  The  noise  of  a  tumult 
greeted  his  ears,  and  then  a  strange,  wild, 
despairing,  heart-rending  cry  for  "Help! 
help !  help ! "  With  the  swiftness  of  a  tiger, 
he  leaped  into  the  camp. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

IT  was  a  not  unusual  and  yet  a  terrific 
scene  that  met  his  view.  They  were  on  the 
point  of  lynching  little  Pete.  The  noose 


30 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


was  already  about  his  neck,  and  the  rope 
thrown  over  a  limb.  The  faces  of  the  men 
were  full  of  grim  determination.  There  did 
not  seem  a  particle  of  sympathy  for  the 
struggling  culprit.  Those  who  were  not  ac- 
tively engaged  in  the  affair  looked  carelessly 
on,  as  if  it  were  all  right ;  for  lynching  in 
that  wild  country  was  regarded  as  the  only 
form  of  justice,  and  people  accepted  it  as 
in  more  civilized  communities  they  accept 
the  mandate  of  a  court.  Generally,  lynch- 
ing is  resorted  to  only  when  the  crime  is  be- 
yond doubt ;  and  in  this  case  it  was  well 
understood  that  Pete  was  guilty,  and  richly 
deserved  his  fate. 

In  ordinary  circumstances,  Morton  might 
have  done  nothing,  accustomed  as  he  was  to 
these  exhibitions  of  a  rude  justice,  and  be- 
lieving that  they  were  the  only  means  by 
which  any  kind  of  order  could  be  preserved. 
Pete  was  such  a  strange  sort  of  a  waif,  so 
unsociable  and  sly  and  secret  in  his  ways, 
that  one  might  assume  almost  any  wicked- 
ness concerning  him.  He  did  not  beget  con- 
fidence by  his  ways  of  living. 

This  time,  however,  Morton  dashed  in,  and 
seized  the  little  fellow  and  cut  the  rope. 

"  What's  this  for  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  It's  all  right,  pard,"  said  Big  Dick.  "  He's 
a  horse-thief  and  murderer,  so  just  hand  me 
the  rope,  and  I'll  fix  it  again.  I  am  sorry 
you  interfered.  It's  a  waste  of  time." 

"  How  do  you  know  he's  a  horse-thief  and 
murderer  ?  " 

"We  caught  him  on  the  horse;  and  the 
old  man  Maddox  is  dead  as  a  smelt, —  his 
throat  cut,  and  all  his  money  gone.  Poor 
devil!  he  expected  to  start  for  the  States 
next  week.  He  had  a  nice  little  pile  of  sav- 
ings." 

"  Hang  him  1  hang  him !  "  shouted  a 
dozen  or  so  strong  voices. 

Little  Pete  was  trembling  in  the  arms  of 
Morton.  He  was  speechless  with  terror. 

"  Is  this  so  ?  "  said  Morton  to  him,  kindly. 

All  that  the  poor  child  could  do  was  to 
sob  and  shake  his  head. 

"Hurry  up,  Morton.  We  can't  delay. 
It's  right." 


"  But  I  must  know  more  of  this.  I  am 
not  satisfied." 

"  Satisfied  1  Look  in  Maddox's  cabin, 
you'll  see  him  dead ;  and  we  found  this  boy 
fleeing  away  on  his  horse." 

"  I  didn't  do  it,"  broke  forth  Pete  at 
length,  with  shrieking  voice.  "  Oh,  save  me, 
save  me  !  I  am  innocent !  " 

"  The  boy  says  he  is  innocent.  I  will  not 
have  him  hung  without  a  trial.  There's  a 
chance  he  didn't  do  it." 

"  That's  all  bosh,"  said  Big  Dick.  "  He 
did  it.  Nobody  doubts  it,  and  by  God  we'll 
hang  him  here  and  now." 

"Not  with  my  consent,"  said  Morton. 
"I  protest.  Is  there  no  one  to  side  with 
me?" 

No  answer  was  made.  The  popular  opin- 
ion was  against  little  Pete,  and  no  one 
cared  to  brave  it.  The  proof  against  him 
was  so  overwhelming  that  it  seemed  useless. 

"We'd  better  hang  him,"  said  Deacon 
Gooch,  as  solemnly  as  if  he  were  in  a  prayer- 
meeting.  "  It  will  save  all  further  trouble. 
I  believe  he's  an  imp,  and  there's  no  chance 
of  converting  him.  If  there  were,  I'd  re- 
prieve him  a  day  or  two,  in  order  that  he 
might  go  to  glory.  But  he's  a  child  of  the 
devil,  and  so  I  say,  Pull  the  rope.  I  never 
could  get  him  to  read  the  Bible.  He's  a  bad 
one,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  hang 
everybody  that  didn't  believe  your  Bible," 
said  Morton.  "  That's  worse  than  murder  in 
your  eyes.  I  begin  to  have  some  faith  in 
the  boy,  seeing  that  he  wouldn't  read  your 
sacred  book  of  rapine  and  murder." 

"  Oh,  damn  the  Bible  I  "  said  Big  Dick.  "  I 
wouldn't  read  it  myself.  But  to  business. 
This  boy  must  be  hung ;  and  I  propose  to 
see  it  done  at  once.  Hand  me  the  rope 
there." 

A  dozen  hands  flung  him  the  rope,  and  he 
began  to  make  a  noose.  Morton  looked  at 
this  crowd  of  excited  men.  They  were  bent 
upon  their  purpose.  There  was  apparently 
no  chance  to  save  the  boy ;  and  in  his  heart 
Morton  acknowledged  that  the  proof  was 
almost  positive  enough  to  justify  lynching. 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


31 


Even  if  the  boy  had  a  trial,  he  would  prob- 
ably be  convicted,  and  then  there  would  be 
no  escape.  Little  Pete  clung  to  him,  wound 
his  arms  about  his  leg,  crouched  like  a  dog 
and  cried :  — 

"  Oh,  save  me !  I  am  not  guilty.  Do  not 
let  them  hang  me.  Oh,  shoot  me  first  1  It 
is  so  horrible!  Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"  I  will  defend  you,"  said  Morton,  "  even 
with  my  life.  You  shall  have  a  fair  trial." 

The  child  sank  at  his  feet,  and  lay  almost 
motionless.  Big  Dick  stepped  forward  to 
put  the  noose  about  his  neck. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Morton. 

"What's  the  use  of  waiting?"  said  Dick. 
"The  sooner  it's  done,  the  better.  I  want 
some  supper." 

"  Go  get  your  supper  then,  and  after  sup- 
per we'll  hang  him." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  couldn't  eat  my  supper  with 
a  good  conscience,  if  I  did  that." 

"  Listen  to  me,  men,"  said  Morton.  "  Why 
are  you  in  such  a  devilish  hurry  ?  Can't 
you  wait?  There's  time  enough.  The  boy 
can't  run  off.  A  week  hence  is  just  as  good 
as  now,  if  the  thing  is  the  right  thing  to  be 
done.  Don't  make  a  mistake.  Let  us  be 
sure  that  this  poor  child  is  a  criminal.  He's 
not  a  man  that  we  should  fear  him.  Come, 
give  him  a  fair  trial." 

Still  there  was  no  answer.  No  one  dared 
to  speak  first,  though  perhaps  many  would 
have  spoken  second  and  third  in  favor  of 
the  boy. 

"You  might  as  well  give  up,  Morton," 
said  Dick.  "There's  nobody  to  stand  by 
you.  The  boy's  not  worth  the  game.  Give 
him  up." 

"  I  will  not  give  him  up,  and  I  will  sell 
my  life  as  dearly  as  possible." 

He  drew  both  pistols,  and  fronted  the 
crowd  like  a  lion  at  bay. 

"  That  puts  a  new  complexion  on  the  mat- 
ter. We  don't  want  to  kill  you ;  but  we'll 
have  to,  if  you  don't  drop  them  things.  I'll 
be  damned,  if  I  won't  see  justice  done !  I 
never  undertook  to  hang  a  horse-thief  yet 
but  what  I  succeeded." 

"  Hold  on  there ! "  said  Paddie  John,  who 


hitherto  had  been  a  somewhat  indifferent 
spectator  of  the  scene.  "  It's  getting  serious 
now.  I  didn't  care  much  for  the  boy,  but  I 
do  care  for  Charlie.  He's  my  friend,  and,  as 
he  has  chosen  to  fight  the  thing  out,  I  guess 
I'll  take  my  stand  with  him  ;  so  you'll  have 
to  kill  me,  too,  Big  Dick,  before  you  get  that 
boy." 

It  makes  an  infinite  difference  when  there 
are  two  instead  of  one.  It  begins  to  look 
like  a  majority.  One  man  is  a  very  insig- 
nificant spectacle,  but  two  men  will  com- 
mand a  certain  sort  of  respect;  for  one  man 
may  be  crazy,  but  it  is  very  seldom  that  two 
men  are  crazy  together  on  the  same  subject. 
It  is  evidence  of  your  sanity,  when  another 
man  thinks  exactly  as  you  do. 

"  I  guess  I'll  do  the  same,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  Charlie's  on  the  growing  side,  and  I'll  hoist 
his  colors.  I  can  shoot  pretty  straight,  too. 
My  prayers  don't  amount  to  much,  but  I've 
a  couple  bullets  that  can  accomplish  a  good 
deal.  They  are  as  heavy  as  sermons,  but  a 
heap  more  penetrating.  I  think  they'll 
bring  conviction.  I  see  the  deacon's  already 
on  the  anxious  seat.  He  don't  know  which 
side  to  take,  for  he  don't  know  which  side  is 
coming  out  ahead.  Pity  he  didn't  have  a 
revelation.  The  Bible  always  fails  just  in 
the  nick  of  time.  Just  when  we  want  to 
know  something,  then  it  don't  tell  us.  Well, 
my  heart's  about  as  good  a  judge  as  any- 
thing ;  so  here's  to  you,  Charlie.  I  think  we 
can  present  a  respectable  opposition." 

It  seemed  as  if  Charlie  might  win,  but 
Big  Dick  was  more  determined  than  ever. 
He  was  one  of  those  stubborn  folk,  rudely 
conscientious  in  his  way,  that  only  grow  more 
stubborn  the  more  you  undertake  to  reason 
with  them.  He  was  thoroughly  convinced 
that  little  Pete  ought  to  be  hung,  and  he  was 
determined  that  he  should  be  hung  at  the 
shortest  possible  notice.  He  was  still  backed 
up  by  a  hundred  or  more  men ;  but  these 
men,  most  of  them,  did  not  feel  like  tackling 
with  such  determined  fighters  as  Charlie  and 
Joe  and  Jim. 

"  We  are  going  to  hang  this  boy,  and  it's 
useless  for  you  to  resist.  Damn  it,  we'll 


32 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


kill  you  all,  if  need  be.  We  won't  have  horse- 
thieves  and  murderers  protected.  I'll  give 
you  a  minute  to  drop  this  thing.  If  you 
keep  it  up,  by  God,  I'll  shoot  you.  Get 
ready,  men." 

There  was  heard  on  all  sides  the  ominous 
clicking  of  pistols. 

But  the  minute  wasn't  half  up  before  Bill 
and  Jennie  came  upon  the  stage  of  action. 
Jennie  had  hastened  to  the  cottage  of  Bill 
on  the  first  alarm,  for  her  woman's  heart 
beat  for  the  little  fellow  who  was  so  hard 
pressed. 

"  Not  too  late,"  cried  Bill.  "  We  may  have 
to  fight,  but  I'll  save  him.  Ah,  Charlie,  you 
are  ahead  of  me.  That's  right,  I'm  with 
you.  This  boy  shall  not  be  lynched." 

"  He  shall  not,"  cried  Jennie,  who  also 
drew  forth  a  couple  of  revolvers.  "I  can 
shoot,  too ;  and,  by  the  eternal,  I  will  shoot." 

Jennie  was  a  Jacksonian  Democrat ;  and, 
though  she  couldn't  vote,  she  could  say,  "  By 
the  eternal,"  and  she  could  shoot  as  straight 
and  quick  as  any  man. 

This  sudden  addition  to  Charlie's  force 
made  the  crowd  back  of  Big  Dick  hesitate 
still  more.  They  hardly  wanted  to  fight  a 
woman.  Besides,  Tim  Baker  was  one  of 
Big  Dick's  nearest  and  stanchest  supporters, 
but,  when  he  saw  Jennie  on  the  other  side, 
why,  then,  like  a  very  obedient  spouse,  he 
took  his  place  beside  her.  He  knew  better 
than  to  fight  his  own  wife. 

Well,  they  stood  facing  each  other,  the  big 
and  the  little  crowd  ;  and,  somehow  or  other, 
the  little  crowd  seemed  to  be  getting  the 
best  of  it,  and  there  was  a  perceptible 
shrinking  in  the  big  crowd.  It  isn't  always 
numbers  that  win.  Still,  however,  there 
might  have  been  a  bloody  fight;  but  the 
deacon,  who  until  now  had  been  strong  for 
hanging,  seeing  that  the  opposition  was 
pretty  vigorous,  changed  his  tactics,  put  up 
his  pistol,  and  said :  — 
-  "  Well,  give  the  boy  a  chance.  He'll  have 
to  hang  any  way,  for  there's  no  doubt  of  his 
conviction.  In  the  mean  time,  I'll  lend  him 
my  Bible  and  persuade  him  to  study  the 
catechism.  It  is  possible  that  he  may  be 


washed  in  the  blood  of  the  lamb  and  wear  a 
robe  of  white.  I'll  put  up  my  pistol,  and 
start  a  prayer-meeting  for  his  sake." 

The  words-  and  act  of  the  cowardly  dea- 
con gave  a  chance  for  the  others  to  back 
gracefully  down.  They  put  up  their  pistols, 
all  except  Dick.  He  was  still  pugnacious. 
But  he  was  entirely  alone,  and  he  saw  the 
uselessness  of  making  any  further  effort. 
He  was  now  in  a  minority  of  one ;  and  he 
was  not  fitted  by  nature  to  fulfil  the  respon- 
sibilities of  such  a  position,  so  with  a 
glum  countenance  he  submitted  to  the  turn 
of  fortune. 

"Well,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  busi- 
ness," he  said,  as  he  put  up  his  pistols 
"  We'll  wait,  and  give  the  prisoner  a  trial. 
It'll  amount  to  the  same  in  the  end.  How 
much  time  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  A  week'll  do,"  said  Charlie.  "  Do  you 
grant  it  ?  " 

"  We  do,"  said  the  man. 

"  Will  you  keep  the  boy,  and  promise  to 
give  him  up  at  the  time  set,  Dick?"  said 
Charlie. 

"  Indeed,  I  will,"  said  Dick.  "  Nobody  shall 
touch  him  or  injure  him.  I'll  feed  him  well, 
and  give  him  a  good  bed.  There's  my  word 
for  it,"  and  he  gave  his  hand  to  Charlie. 

"Go,"  said  Charlie  to  little  Pete,  "you 
are  as  safe  with  him  as  with  your  own 
mother  now.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow.  I 
will  be  your  counsel  and  defend  you,  and,  if 
possible,  prove  your  innocence.  Paddie,  I 
want  you  with  Jimmy  to  give  me  a  lift  on 
this  case.  I'll  manage  the  evidence,  and  you 
must  make  the  plea." 

Now  that  Big  Dick  was  constable  instead 
of  hangman,  he  was  determined  to  do  his 
duty  to  the  utmost,  and  keep  Pete  in  good 
condition  until  the  trial. 

"Come,  my  little  fellow,"  said  he,  "you 
needn't  be  afraid.  You  are  safe  with  me 
until  after  the  trial,  then  the  devil  may 
have  his  own.  I'll  make  you  as  comforta- 
ble as  I  can.  Don't  cry  now.  If  I  was  as 
sure  of  a  week's  good  living  as  you  are,  I'd 
be  happy.  'Tisn't  everybody  can  look  for- 
ward to  as  much  as  that." 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


33 


They  all  adjourned  to  supper,  and  pretty 
soon  the  night  was  as  quiet  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

OLD  Maddox  had  been  killed  the  night 
before,  evidently  murdered ;  for  all  his  sav- 
ings were  gone.  At  the  same  time,  little 
Pete  had  mysteriously  disappeared.  An  im- 
mediate search  was  made,  and  miles  from 
camp,  fleeing  as  if  for  his  very  life,  was  dis- 
covered the  culprit ;  and,  as  if  to  make  his 
guilt  undoubted,  he  was  on  the  very  horse 
that  Maddox  owned.  The  money  was  not 
found.  Probably,  he  had  flung  it  away  when 
he  saw  the  pursuers  close  upon  him.  He 
was  trembling  with  terror,  and  could  scarcely 
speak  a  word.  Only  now  and  then  could  he 
shriek  out  and  piteously  beg  for  mercy. 

The  rude  men  who  captured  him  had  no 
more  doubt  of  his  guilt  than  that  the  sun 
shone,  and  on  their  arrival  at  camp  proceeded 
at  once  to  lynch  him;  and  not  a  protest 
would  have  been  made  on  his  behalf,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  opportune  arrival  of  Mor- 
ton. He  saved  him  for  the  time  being,  but 
there  was  little  hope  of  his  acquittal,  and 
his  doom  seemed  certain. 

"Well,  the  little  cuss  shall  have  a  fair 
trial  anyway,"  said  Morton,  as  he  sat  in  his 
cabin,  talking  over  the  matter  with  Paddie 
John  and  Jimmy,  the  "  minister,"  early  the 
next  morning.  "  That'll  be  better  than 
nothing." 

"It  won't  do  him  much  good,  unless  he 
gets  converted,  as  Gooch  says,"  said  Pad- 
die.  "I  rather  think  he's  guilty.  There's 
nobody  else  did  it,  and  then  why  in  the 
devil  did  he  run  off  ?  " 

"  It's  all  against  him,  I  know,*'  said  Char- 
lie ;  "  but  I'm  going  to  do  something  for  him. 
I  don't  like  to  believe  that  he'd  do  such  a 
horrible  deed  as  that." 

"But  he's  such  a  weird-looking,  little, 
sneaking  fellow,"  said  Paddie.  "It  makes 
me  shudder  to  look  at  him,  he's  so  ghost-like. 
He's  one  of  those  damned  New  York  waifs 
that  almost  live  on  air  floated  out  here  from 
Five  Points.  He  hasn't  any  more  conscience 


than  a  ghoul.  He  was  conceived  in  crime 
and  born  in  iniquity,  and  in  that  respect  he 
beats  David  all  hollow.  He's  a  living  speci- 
men of  original  sin." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  In  my  younger  days,  when  I  was  a  theo- 
logical student  and  thought  I  could  do  any- 
thing for  the  Lord,  I  tried  to  convert  some 
of  these  little  devils.  I  had  my  hands  full. 
They  stole  all  the  hymn-books  and  my  hat 
and  cane  the  first  Sunday;  and  I  had  to 
walk  home  bareheaded,  and  caught  cold. 
I've  always  thought  the  Lord  didn't  treat 
me  fair  on  that  occasion.  He  ought  to  have 
performed  a  miracle  and  kept  my  head  clear, 
seeing  that  I  was  doing  so  much,  or  at  least 
trying  to,  for  his  kingdom.  Yes,  the  devil 
himself  would  have  to  run  away  from  such 
youngsters,  in  order  to  be  decent.  I  suspect 
Pete  is  one  of  them.  However,  I'm  ready 
to  help  you  defend  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  as  bad  as  he  looks," 
said  Charlie.  "  I  know  he  has  strange  ways 
about  him.  His  eyes  are  wild  and  wander- 
ing as  a  hawk's,  and  sharp  withal  as  steel. 
He  keeps  himself  away  from  us.  He  acts 
sly ;  but  I  believe  there's  some  good  in  him. 
I  feel  as  if  I  must  get  him  acquitted,  and  let 
him  go.  He  ought  to  have  another  chance 
in  the  world.  It's  too  bad  to  hang  him 
now." 

"I  presume  it  would  be  better  to  wait 
until  he  has  killed  three  or  four  other  ras- 
cals as  bad  as  himself.  But  it's  a  mighty 
small  chance  he  has.  Where's  the  evi- 
dence? You  haven't  a  pin  to  stand  on.  It's 
dead  against  him.  It's  almost  as  much  as 
my  life's  worth  to  make  a  plea  for  him," 
said  Paddie. 

"  Well,  you  must  do  it :  if  I  haven't  the 
facts  to  acquit  him,  then  I  want  your  im- 
agination," said  Charlie.  "  Imagination  is 
sometimes  better  than  facts.  I'll  go  over 
and  see  Pete,  and  get  something  out  of  him. 
I  hope  he's  some  sort  of  a  story  to  tell." 

"How's  your  prisoner?"  said  he  to  Big 
Dick,  as  he  went  toward  the  latter's  cabin. 

"All  right,"  said  Dick:  "I've  got  him 
safe,  and  I  feed  him  well,  but  he  don't  eat 


34 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


much.  I  was  in  hopes  he'd  fat  up  for  the 
market." 

"  I  must  go  and  consult  with  him.  He's 
my  client,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  a  mighty  small  fee  you'll  get,  I 
reckon.  It's  a  thankless  job  that's  on  your 
hands." 

"  The  boy  shall  have  a  chance  anyway." 

"Oh,  yes,  give  him  a  chance, —  a  good 
long  rope.  The  hanging  will  come  at 
last." 

"You  are  pretty  rough  on  him,  I  think, 
Dick.  Haven't  you  killed  a  man  in  your 
day?" 

"  Of  course  I  have,  but  never  in  cold 
blood  for  money.  I've  always  had  a  reason, 
and  my  life  was  in  danger.  But  to  kill  a 
poor  old  man  when  he's  asleep,  and  rob  him 
of  his  hard  earnings,  that,  I  say,  deserves 
the  halter ;  and  he  shall  have  the  halter." 

"  What,  even  if  the  jury  acquit  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  flatter  yourself  that  the  jury 
will  acquit  him.  We  haven't  fools  enough 
in  the  camp  for  that,  and  besides  they  dare 
not  acquit  him." 

Charlie  found  Pete  in  a  far  corner  of  the 
room,  pale,  haggard,  and  almost  in  hysterics. 
The  strong  man  took  the  little  one  gently  to 
his  side,  and  tried  to  soothe  him. 

"  Come,  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Charlie. 
"Did  you  do  it?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  burst  forth  the  boy,  im- 
petuously. 

"  I  hope  you  didn't,  but  appearances  are 
against  you.  What  made  you  run  away  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  frightened  1  " 

"  Frightened  ?    Frightened  at  what  ?  " 

"  At  something, —  somebody, —  a  man  that 
I  saw." 

"A  man?    Whatman?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  saw  him  just  at  dark, 
and  I  tried  to  escape." 

"  Was  it  any  man  in  the  camp  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  somebody  I  hadn't  seen  before, — 
that  is,  for  a  long  time." 

"  A  strange  man  in  the  camp  ?  Are  you 
sure  of  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  was  rough-looking,  not  dressed 
like  a  miner.  The  moment  it  was  dark,  I 


took  the  first  horse  I  could  find  and  started 
off.  Oh,  I  wanted  to  go  like  the  wind.  I 
thought  that  man  was  pursuing  me.  How 
his  eyes  glared !  Save  me !  I  would  rather 
perish  with  these  rude  men  than  to  have 
him  touch  me." 

"I  must  sift  this  matter,"  said  Charlie. 
"It  can't  be  that  you  are  deceiving  me. 
Come,  boy,  look  me  in  the  face  1  Just  give 
me  one  square  look !  Don't  let  your  eyes 
wander  so.  Tell  me  is  this  true  that  you 
have  said  to  me." 

The  bright  eyes  of  the  boy  looked  Charlie 
full  in  the  face.  They  were  liquid,  unfath- 
omable, as  if  born  beneath  a  southern  sky. 
They  flashed  with  glorious  beauty  like  the 
eyes  of  those  children  that  look  upon  the 
dome  of  Italy  and  reflect  its  wondrous  brill- 
iancy. With  steady  yet  low  voice,  the  boy 
said,  "  It  is  true." 

For  a  moment,  Charlie  looked  at  him 
fixedly  as  if  he  would  read  his  whole  soul. 
Then  suddenly  he  grasped  the  tiny  hands 
and  said  vehemently  :  "  I  believe  you,  and  I 
will  defend  you  with  every  drop  of  my 
blood.  I  will  search  this  out.  I  will  find 
this  fellow,  if  I  can,  and  convict  him  of  the 
murder.  He  must  be  somewhere  about 
Don't  fear.  I'm  your  friend  from  this  time.' 

Morton  consulted  with  Burnham,  and  they 
instituted  a  thorough  search  for  the  tramp. 
Burnham,  indeed,  gave  himself  up  entirely 
to  the  work,  and  organized  a  band  in  ordei 
to  scour  the  country  far  and  wide,  and  un 
earth  the  mystery. 

Deacon  Gooch  of  course  thought  that  it 
was  his  business  to  call  upon  the  culprit 
and  attempt  to  convert  him.  It  seemed  to 
his  orthodox  mind  a  good  chance  to  display 
the  riches  of  the  "  gospel."  He  armed  him- 
self with  a  Bible,  and  proceeded  a  day  or  two 
before  the  trial  to  the  prison-house.  The 
poor  boy  was  lying  on  the  floor  asleep. 
Traces  of  enormous  suffering  were  on  the 
pale  lips  and  closed  eyes.  The  heavy  step 
of  the  deacon  awoke  him,  and  he  looked  un- 
easily forth.  He  did  not  seem  particularly 
happy  as  he  noticed  the  gloomy  coun tenancy 
of  the  imperturbable  missionary. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


35 


a  I  have  come  to  talk  to  you,"  said  the 
deacon. 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  do  any  good,"  said 
Pete. 

"  It  ought  to.  You  know  that  you  have 
got  to  die,  and  you  ought  to  be  prepared." 

"  I  am  prepared,  if  I  must  die.  But  I  am 
innocent ;  and,  if  you  really  care  for  my  wel- 
fare, you  will  help  to  save  me." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  your  guilt.  What 
I  want  you  to  do  is  to  repent.  There  is  no 
chance  for  you  in  this  world ;  but  I  would 
like  to  have  you  go  to  glory  for  your  own 
sake,  and  because  it  will  add  another  shining 
jewel  to  my  crown." 

"  Then  you  expect  to  show  off  in  the  next 
world  and  wear  fine  clothes,"  said  Pete. 
"  Well,  I  don't  care  for  your  company  :  there 
are  lots  of  good  folks  going  the  other  way, 
and  I  guess  I'll  go  too." 

"What  a  reprobate,  a  child  of  the  devil 
indeed !  Yet,  bad  as  you  are,  Christ  died  to 
save  you." 

"  Who  is  this  Christ  that  you  talk  about? 
What  can  be  do  for  me  ?  " 

"  He  is  the  Almighty  God.  He  came  and 
dwelt  among  us.  He  was  crucified  and 
buried,  and  rose  again  and  is  now  in  heaven, 
the  Lord  of  all.  If  you  believe  on  him,  he 
will  save  you." 

"  Will  he  prevent  me  from  being  hung?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  but  he  will  wash  your  sins  away, 
and  you  will  be  as  white  as  wool,  and  reign 
with  him  in  glory." 

"  Well,  if  it  makes  no  difference  to  him,  I 
wish  he  would  save  me  now  from  hanging. 
I  have  committed  no  murder.  If  Christ  is 
good  as  you  say,  and  has  the  power,  why 
doesn't  he  help  me  at  once?  I  don't  believe 
in  putting  things  off  until  one's  dead." 

"  Oh,  Christ  saves  you  from  hell-fire.  He 
won't  save  you  from  hanging." 

"  Of  what  use  is  he  then  ?  It's  hanging 
that  I  want  to  be  saved  from.  That's  a 
real  thing,  while  hell-fire  is  sort  of  guess- 
work." 

"  You  shouldn't  reason  thus.  It  is  wicked. 
You  must  submit.  It  may  be  best  for  you 
to  be  hung.  It  may  bring  you  to  conviction, 


and  save  you  from  the  worm  that  never  dies. 
Let  me  read  you  some  Scripture." 

"I  don't  want  any  Scripture.  I  don't 
think  it  will  be  comforting,  what  I  have 
heard  of  it." 

"It's  very  comforting,  if  you  are  in  the 
right  spirit.  Hear  this :  Man  is  born  in  sin, 
he  is  shapen  in  iniquity ;  the  smoke  of  his 
torments  ascendeth  up  forever  and  ever ; 
if  ye  hate  not  father  and  mother,  brother 
and  sister,  ye  cannot  be  my  disciple;  he 
lifted  up  his  eyes  in  hell ;  if  ye  do  not  be- 
lieve, ye  shall  be  damned." 

"Oh,  stop  those  horrid  words.  I  can't 
bear  them.  They  will  make  me  insane." 

"  These  are  the  words  of  inspiration," 
said  the  deacon :  "  you  should  roll  them  as 
a  sweet  morsel  under  your  tongue." 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  go.  I  shall  almost 
long  for  hanging,  if  you  keep  up  this  clat- 
ter." 

«  Oh,  what  a  wretch  I  Well,  your  blood 
will  not  rest  upon  my  soul.  1  have  tried  to 
convert  you.  You  reject  the  mercy  of  your 
Saviour,  and  now  you  must  perish." 

"  I  think  the  Saviour  you  talk  about  is  a 
humbug,"  said  little  Pete,  desperately. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  villain  you?" 
shouted  the  deacon,  almost  striking  him  in 
his  wrath. 

"Why,  you  say  that  Christ  is  God  Al- 
mighty, that  he  is  in  heaven  and  rules  every- 
thing, and  that  he  is  good  and  wants  to 
make  everybody  happy.  Why  don't  he  do 
it  then?  I  have  suffered,  and  thousands 
have  suffered;  and  yet  what  has  he  done? 
I  am  to  be  hung,  though  I  am  as  innocent 
as  the  babe  unborn.  If  he  is  in  heaven 
over  us  on  a  throne,  why  don't  he  help, 
why  does  he  let  me  perish?  When  he 
shows  himself  as  a  real  helper  in  my  trouble, 
then  I'll  believe  as  I  believe  in  Charlie,  who's 
going  to  stand  by  me.  If  Christ  is  God,  I 
must  say  he's  a  very  shiftless  one.  I'll  take 
my  chances  with  men." 

Pete  shook  violently  and  clenched  his  fists 
as  he  uttered  this  furious  speech.  He  seemed 
to  speak,  for  the  moment,  more  as  a  man 
than  as  a  boy,  he  was  so  wrought  upon  by 


36 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


the  intensity  of  his  passion.  At  any  rate, 
he  confounded  the  deacon,  who  took  his 
Bible  and  incontinently  departed,  saying  to 
himself,  "  Well,  I  am  glad  he's  going  to  be 
hung." 

Burnham  found  no  success  in  his  search 
for  the  strange  wanderer.  Every  part  of 
the  surrounding  country  was  carefully  exam- 
ined. There  was  nothing  to  vouch  for  the 
story  of  Pete,  except  the  vague  testimony  of 
a  couple  of  town  women  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  cainp,  who  thought  they  saw  such  a  man 
pass  by  just  toward  evening.  If  there  were 
any  tramp  of  the  sort,  the  earth  assuredly 
must  have  swallowed  him  up;  for  not  a  trace 
of  him  was  discoverable. 

"  I  guess  it's  the  boy's  invention,"  said 
Paddie.  "  It  would  be  a  good  story,  if  we 
could  only  prove  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  could  easily  shove  the  crime 
off  on  to  him,  if  we  could  only  prove  his 
existence.  We'd  make  him  a  vicarious  sac- 
rifice," said  Jimmy. 

"  Well,  I  shall  do  the  best  I  can  with  the 
story,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  believe  it's  true ; 
and  there  is  some  slight  evidence.  Mollie 
and  Libbie  will  testify  they  saw  some  such 
a  cuss.  I'll  give  'em  a  ten-dollar  bill  to 
make  the  most  of  it  without  lying.  Justice 
has  to  be  bought  sometimes,  you  know ;  and 
truth  is  so  slow  that  we  must  purchase  a 
ticket  now  and  then,  and  put  her  on  hoard 
the  train." 

"How  are  you  going  to  manage?"  said 
Jimmy. 

"You  might  put  in  a  plea  of  want  of  ju- 
risdiction," suggested  Paddie. 

"  I  guess  the  jurisdiction  is  pretty  well  es- 
tablished," said  Charlie.  "You  might  as 
well  plead  want  of  jurisdiction  when  you  are 
in  the  tiger's  clutch." 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  undertake  to  prove 
insanity  V  " 

"  No,  we  are  not  civilized  enough  for  that. 
I  suppose  the  only  way  of  escape  is  to  prove 
his  innocence." 

"  That  of  course  you  can't  do." 

"  I  don't  expect  to.  Really,  it  looks  al- 
most useless  to  try  to  do  anything.  But  I 


am  thoroughly  convinced  that  the  boy  is  not 
guilty,  and  I'll  do  something." 

"  Oh,  we  won't  give  up  the  ship,  not  until 
it  sinks,  at  any  rate." 

"  I'm  not  much  of  a  talker,  you  know," 
said  Morton.  "I  shall  depend  upon  you, 
Paddie,  for  the  speech:  you  must  stir  the 
imagination.  I'll  try  and  give  you  some 
facts  to  work  up;  and  you,  Jimmy,  must 
move  upon  their  hearts,  you  must  bring 
tears,  and  perhaps  there'll  be  a  chance." 

"  I'll  bring  the  tears,  but  I'm  afraid  they'll 
run  to  waste,  and  water  but  the  desert." 

The  day  of  trial  came.  Nothing  more 
could  be  discovered. 

"I  have  done  my  best,  little  Pete,"  said 
Morton :  "  the  chances  are  against  you,  I 
am  afraid." 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  terrible,"  said  the  little  fel- 
low. "  If  they  would  only  let  me  go ! " 

"  They  will  not.  We  must  prepare  for 
the  worst.  Have  you  any  word  to  leave, 
any  friends  ?  " 

"I  have  not.  I  am  a  waif,  that's  all. 
Perhaps  I  might  as  well  die,  only  I  do  not 
wish  to  die  in  this  way.  Promise  me,  will 
you  not  ?  I  have  only  one  favor  to  ask." 

"  I  will  do  anything  that  you  desire." 

"I  want  you  to  shoot  me.  Oh,  it  is  so 
horrible  to  be  hung !  I  do  so  dread  it.  Will 
you  not  shoot  me?  Do  not  let  me  suffer  so." 

"My  dear  boy,  I  will  shoot  you,  if  you 
can't  be  saved :  you  shall  not  suffer  a  pang, 
depend  upon  me." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  Now  I  am  happy.  I  do 
not  wish  to  live :  you  will  take  my  body 
and  bury  me  just  as  I  am,  will  you  not,  all 
by  myself?" 

"Yes,  I  will  take  care  of  your  last  resting- 
place.  Trust  me,  I  will  do  as  I  would  if 
you  were  my  own  child." 

CHAPTER  XX. 

JUDGE  PILKINS  was  chosen  to  preside  at 
the  trial.  He  was  the  fattest  man  in  the 
place,  so  fat  that  he  could  not  bend  one 
way  or  the  other,  and  so  of  course  could 
hold  the  scales  of  justice  with  impartial 
hand.  We  can  generally  trust;  a  IH!  man  : 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


37 


he  belongs  to  the  conservative  order,  and 
will  do  nothing  hastily,  and  besides  he  has 
or  can  have  an  immense  amount  of  dignity. 
No  one  is  so  fitted  to  hold  an  independent 
position  as  a  three  hundred  pounder;  for  he 
can  easily  be  upon  both  sides  of  the  ques- 
tion at  the  same  time.  He  is  a  comprehen- 
sive man.  At  any  rate,  nobody  else  was 
thought  of  as  judge  upon  this  important 
occasion  except  Pilkins.  I  believe  he  knew 
something  of  law,  but  he  practised  very  lit- 
tle ;  for  he  had  rather  drink  rum  punch  and 
tell  stories.  He  was  a  first-class  loafer.  Oc- 
casionally, the  men  came  to  him  to  settle 
their  disputes ;  and  he  could  write  up  a'legal 
document,  when  needed.  In  this  way,  he 
made  out  to  supply  the  wants  of  his  pon- 
derous body.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to 
dig.  He  could  hardly  strike  a  pick  into  the 
ground ;  and  I  doubt,  if  he  saw  a  chunk  of 
gold  right  at  his  feet,  if  he  could  pick  it  up. 
He  was  in  his  glory  now,  for  this  was  the 
first  trial  that  had  ever  taken  place  in  this 
semi-barbaric  community. 

Sammy  Grubbins  was  the  prosecuting  at- 
torney. After  a  fashion,  he  was  rather  smart, 
a  self-made  man,  and,  as  the  saying  is,  very 
proud  of  his  maker.  He  was  not  very  old, 
was  rather  adventurous  in  his  disposition, 
understood  California  manners  and  customs 
pretty  well,  and  let  no  occasion  slip  by  which 
he  might  push  himself  ahead.  He  did  not 
like  the  cognomen  "Sammy"  which  the 
men  bestowed  upon  him,  but  was  too  shrewd 
to  make  any  complaint,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  time  when  he  should  write  it  to  all  the 
world  "  Hon.  Samuel  Grubbins  "  ;  and  who 
knows,  he  used  to  whisper  to  himself,  but  it 
may  be  "  President  Grubbins  "  ?  He  meant 
to  distinguish  himself  upon  this  occasion, 
and  make  a  speech  that  should  redound  to 
his  credit,  as  he  said, —  "  ring  through  the 
arches  of  fame." 

He  had  for  his  assistants  Sol  Jones,  a 
broken-down  politician,  but  who,  neverthe- 
less, had  an  acute  and  fertile  intellect,  and 
understood  law  better  than  any  man  in  the 
settlement,  and  Prince  Hal,  a  jocular,  good- 
for-nothing  fellow,  a  graduate  from  college, 


but  the  laziest  man  who  ever  trod  this  planet. 
How  he  ever  got  to  Golden  Throne  is  a  mys- 
tery ;  for  he  was  a  man  who  would  not  walk, 
or  ride  either,  if  he  could  help  it. 

Morton  had  to  display  considerable  skill 
in  the  selection  of  the  jury.  He  wanted  to 
have  a  decent  set  of  men,  if  possible, —  some 
at  least  that  would  show  a  bit  of  human  feel- 
ing. 

Big  Dick  himself  was  determined  to  be 
one  of  the  jury. 

"  I  want  to  see  fair  play,"  said  he,  "  and 
I'm  going  on." 

"But  you  can't  go  on,"  said  Morton.  " In 
the  first  place,  you  are  constable,  and  then 
you  are  a  witness  for  the  prosecution." 

"Well,  I  can  be  witness  and  constable, 
and  still  sit  on  the  jury.  I've  made  up  my 
mind,  and  I  know  what's  what,  and  I'll  see 
justice." 

"That's  the  reason  you  shouldn't  go  on 
the  jury,"  said  Morton,  "  because  your  mind's 
made  up.  If  you  go  on  the  jury,  you  mustn't 
have  an  opinion,  to  begin  with.  Isn't  that 
so,  Judge?" 

"  It  is  indeed,"  said  Pilkins. 

"  You  want  fools  and  idiots,  do  you?  It's 
no  go.  I  understand  this  case.  You  must 
put  me  on  the  jury,"  shouted  Dick. 

"  But  I  have  the  right  of  challenge,  and  I 
challenge  "— 

"  Well,  let  us  fight  it  right  out  at  once," 
said  Big  Dick.  "  Take  your  paces,  and  we'll 
fire." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  now,  I  mean  that  you 
are  not  qualified  to  judge  in  this  case.  You 
can't  and  won't  see  both  sides." 

"But  there's  only  one  side,"  said  Dick, 
"  and  I  see  that  as  plain  as  day." 

"  Well,  I  appeal  to  the  judge.  It's  against 
all  law  that  you  should  sit  on  the  jury." 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  law,"  said  Dick. 
"  I  want  justice." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Morton ;  "  but  I'm-afraid 
we  won't  get  it  from  you." 

The  judge  straightened  himself,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  give  his  decision. 

"  Inasmuch  as  Big  Dick  is  a  constable,  and 
also  that  the  aforesaid  Big  Dick  is  a  witness 


38 


GOLDEN  THKONE. 


for  the  prosecution,  and  also  that,  according 
to  his  own  confession,  he  has  made  up  his 
mind  as  to  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner,  and  that 
no  amount  of  evidence  could  convince  him 
to  the  contrary, —  is  not  that  so,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  it  is,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  judge,  "  see- 
ing that  this  is  so,  it  does  seem  to  me  that 
you  are  disqualified  from  sitting  on  the  jury 
in  this  case." 

"  Look  out,  Judge,  how  you  decide,"  said 
Big  Dick,  drawing  a  couple  of  revolvers. 

The  judge  looked  at  the  revolvers  with  an 
apparently  careless  glance,  and  then  said, — 

"  But,  seeing  that  you  take  such  a  deep  in- 
terest in  the  matter,  you  can  do  just  as  you 
please." 

"  That's  good  sense,"  said  Big  Dick ;  "  and 
now,  as  I  can  do  just  as  I  please,  I  won't  go 
on.  I  can  see  that  they  give  a  just  verdict 
without  the  bother  of  it." 

Having  disposed  of  this  troublesome  cus- 
tomer, or  rather  he  having  disposed  of  him- 
self, to  his  own  satisfaction,  Morton  pro- 
ceeded to  fill  up  the  jury  as  carefully  as  he 
could.  He  succeeded  in  keeping  off  Gooch. 
who  seemed  even  more  determined  than 
Dick  to  have  the  boy  hung. 

After  doing  his  best,  it  was  not  a  very 
promising-looking  jury,  except  that  Burn- 
ham  was  the  foreman  of  it,  and  Tim  Baker 
was  on  it,  rough  and  red-faced;  but  his 
wife  had  exerted  her  influence  somewhat 
potently  upon  him.  If  the  rest  were  willing 
to  acquit  the  boy,  he  at  least  would  make  no 
objection. 

The  evidence  was  simple,  strong,  and,  to 
all  appearance,  conclusive.  The  old  man 
Maddox  had  been  killed.  His  money  had 
been  taken,  and  the  horse;  and  little  Pete 
had  been  found,  by  a  pursuing  party,  upon 
that  horse.  Big  Dick  and  others  testified  to 
all  these  circumstances ;  and  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  prosecuting  attorney  made  a 
skilful  use  of  them.  He  marshalled  his  evi- 
dence in  good  order,  and  the  impression  was 
apparently  decisive. 

Only  a  strong  man  like  Morton  could  have 
made  any  effort  to  defend  the  prisoner,  his 


case  seemed  so  utterly  hopeless.  But  Mor- 
ton was  one  of  those  dogged,  persistent  men 
that  never  give  up,  and  who  could  array 
himself  against  a  thousand  unflinchingly. 
He  made  the  most  of  the  testimony  of  the 
two  camp  women,  Mollie  and  Libbie,  who 
were  quite  sure  they  saw  some  such  a  man 
as  that  described  by  little  Pete.  Morton 
worked  the  thing  up  shrewdly,  and  really  did 
put  some  sort  of  an  entering  wedge  of  doubt 
into  the  minds  of  the  jury. 

Grubbins's  plea,  however,  seemed  to  demol- 
ish it  all.  He  showed  the  utter  absurdity 
of  the  whole  thing.  He  called  it  a  cock  and 
bull  story,  invented  to  save  the  neck  of  the 
prisoner,  etc. 

Paddie  John  followed  with  a  very  eloquent 
oration.  It  was  full  of  fire  and  imagination. 
He  quoted  a  good  deal  of  poetry,  and  really 
interested  the  jury;  but  evidently  it  didn't 
change  their  minds.  Paddie  drew  a  picture 
of  the  wandering  tramp,  and  how  he  mur- 
dered the  old  man.  He  tried  in  all  possible 
ways  to  put  Pete  and  his  actions  out  of 
sight.  I  think,  if  he  had  really  believed  the 
story  himself,  he  might  have  convinced  the 
jury;  but  he  did  not,  and  so  his  glowing 
words  seemed  to  fall  like  ice. 

Sol  Jones  rejoined  with  a  calm  statement 
of  the  law,  and  begged  leave  to  bring  the 
jury  back  from  the  realms  of  the  imagina- 
tion to  a  consideration  of  the  real  facts  of 
the  case.  This  he  did  in  a  cold,  methodical 
way ;  but  it  needed  no  eloquence  to  set  the 
evidence  off. 

The  "minister"  then  followed,  and  he 
made  a  most  brilliant  appeal "  in  behalf  of 
the  boy.  He  touched  the  hearts  of  all  that 
heard  him,  and  they  really  enjoyed  his  pa- 
thetic pleas.  It  was  as  good  as  a  theatre. 
He  was  frequently  applauded.  As  a  camp- 
meeting  effort,  it  was  worthy  of  all  praise. 
No  doubt,  it  would  have  converted  many  a 
sinner.  But  it  didn't  convert  the  jury,  be- 
cause, after  all,  the  whole  discourse  was  a 
make-believe.  It  was  given  in  behalf  of  the 
boy  as  a  matter  of  good-nature,  but  not  of 
burning  conviction ;  for  neither  did  he  be- 
lieve that  the  boy  was  innocent,  and  his 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


39 


smooth  sentences  also  glided  over  the  minds 
of  the  jury  like  puffs  of  wind. 

"I  know  I've  been  preaching,"  said  he, 
when  he  got  through,  to  Morton.  "I 
haven't  done  a  thing  for  your  client.  His 
neck  is  as  good  as  broke.  I  did  the  best  I 
could  though.  But  you  might  as  well  at- 
tempt to  change  the  eternal  hills  as  to 
change  these  men.  See  how  glum  they 
look." 

Morton  acknowledged  it.  It  seemed  as 
if  he  were  the  only  one  who  really  cared 
whether  the  boy  was  saved  or  not,  who  really 
felt  that  a  great  and  terrible  injustice  was 
about  to  be  done.  He  begged  leave  to  speak 
for  a  few  moments,  for  his  heart  was  so  full 
that  he  could  not  keep  still. 

Permission  was  granted.  He  began  in  a 
slow,  deliberate  manner.  He  seemed  to  be 
pleading  in  a  hopeless  way.  He  told  the 
facts,  and  showed  that,  in  spite  of  them, 
there  was  a  possibility  of  the  innocence  of 
the  prisoner.  He  then  went  on  to  point  out, 
if  the  boy  were  innocent,  what  a  terrible 
crime  they  would  commit,  if  they  took  his 
life.  He  asked  them  to  pity  the  youth,  and 
let  him  go.  He  could  hurt  no  one.  Let  him 
have  a  chance.  "  We  cannot  judge,"  said 
Morton,  with  burning  eyes,  "how  dare  we, 
when  there  is  no  danger !  We  need  not  do 
this  for  self-defence, —  we, —  a  hundred 
against  one  poor  little  child.  It  is  a  shame 
for  us  to  do  this.  Who  saw  him  commit  the 
deed  ?  Oh,  life  is  too  sacred  1  We  must  not 
take  it,  unless  we  are  compelled !  We  can 
be  merciful,  we  can  spare ;  and  to  be  merci- 
ful is  to  be  just!  We  need  not  put  this 
boy's  blood  upon  our  hands !  Better,  bet- 
ter a  thousand  times,  let  him  escape,  even 
if  guilty,  than  to  kill  him,  if  he  is  innocent ! " 

In  this  strain,  Morton  went  on.  Gradu- 
ally, he  became  vehement.  His  tones  became 
stirring  and  magnetic.  Every  part  of  his 
body  seemed  to  sway  with  the  thought  that 
he  was  uttering.  His  very  soul  was  speak- 
ing in  every  word  that  he  uttered.  His  lan- 
guage was  a  living  spirit.  Said  one,  speak- 
ing of  it  afterwards:  "He  seemed  to  be 
transformed.  He  possessed  us.  His  elo- 


quence was  irresistible.  I  never  heard  any- 
thing like  it,  and  never  expect  to  again.  It 
cannot  be  reported.  It  was  like  the  rush  of 
a  torrent.  It  was  like  the  touch  of  an  elec- 
tric force.  He  made  us,  for  the  time  being, 
feel  as  he  felt ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  con- 
vict the  child." 

Nothing,  indeed,  could  be  said  or  done 
after  Morton  closed.  It  was  a  wild  dash  of 
eloquence  that  swept  everything  before  it, 
so  entirely  unexpected  and  unpremeditated, 
and  yet  so  masterly.  Prince  Hal  rejoined 
with  only  a  few  feeble  words,  and,  without 
leaving  their  seats,  the  jury  acquitted  the 
prisoner. 

"  How  can  I  repay  you  ?  "  said  Pete,  as  he 
clung  to  Morton. 

"  By  coming  to  my  tent  at  once,  and  pre- 
paring to  leave  this  place  at  the  shortest 
notice.  There's  danger  yet.  We've  only 
got  out  of  the  jaws  of  the  lion,  and  have  a 
chance  to  run ;  and  run  we  must." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I'll  ever  make 
another  speech,"  said  Jimmy.  "  What's  the 
use,  what  does  so  much  talk  amount  to  ?  It's 
only  so  much  gabble.  When  a  man's  in  ear- 
nest, then  his  talk  amounts  to  something. 
Morton  never  claimed  to  be  a  talker,  and 
yet,  when  it  comes  to  the  gist,  he  beats  us 
all." 

"I  don't  understand  your  faith  in  that 
boy,"  said  Paddie.  "  You  defend  him  as  if 
he  were  your  own  child." 

"  Of  course  1  do.  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  I  be- 
lieve him  innocent ;  and  I'd  fight  for  a  dog, 
if  I  thought  he  was  abused.  I  do  hate  in- 
justice, and  the  world  is  full  of  it.  I  felt, 
when  I  was  talking,  that,  if  I  didn't  save 
that  boy,  the  whole  universe  would  tumble 
to  pieces,  and  the  devil  would  have  us  all. 
I  saw  in  him  all  the  innocence  of  the  world, 
and  against  him  all  the  injustice.  If  I  had 
not  saved  him,  I  believe  I  should  have  died." 

"You  didn't  convert  Big  Dick,  though. 
He's  beginning  to  growl  already,  and  says 
the  trial  is  a  farce." 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  convert  him,  only  to 
keep  him  still  for  a  wfyile.  He  sticks  to 
lynching.  That's  the  old  style  to  him,  and 


40 


GOLDEN  THKONE. 


he  don't  like  the  new  style  of  a  trial  by 
jury.  I  know  he's  fretting,  and  I  know  he's 
dangerous.  Pete  must  leave  camp  this  very 
night." 

"  You're  right  there,"  said  Paddie,  "  and, 
even  then,  I  fear  it'll  be  too  late.  Where 
can  we  go  ?  If  they  chase  us,  they'll  catch 
us,  a  hundred  to  a  half-dozen." 

"We  must  play  the  fox  as  well  as  the 
lion.  We  must  get  Pete  to  a  railroad  sta- 
tion, and  send  him  to  San  Francisco." 

"The  nearest  station  is  a  hundred  miles 
away.  Can  you  strike  that  ?  " 

"  We  might  or  might  riot,  and,  having  only 
an  hour  or  two  the  start,  the  chances  are 
that  we'll  be  caught.  Hullo,  I  hear  Dick 
shouting  now.  A  few  more  glasses,  and 
they'll  be  ready  to  upset  the  trial  by  jury 
and  take  up  the  good  old  fashion  of  lynch- 
ing." 

"  Well,  then,  the  sooner  we  take  French 
leave,  the  better.  I'm  ready." 

"  We'll  start  at  once  then,  and  take  the 
boy.  Make  for  El  Dorado  station ;  but, 
mind  you,  a  mile  or  so  out  of  town  you  must 
let  Pete  go." 

"  I  don't  understand  that  dodge." 

11  It's  a  good  one,  though.  Pete,  you  are 
not  afraid  to  do  as  I  tell  you?"  said  Morton. 

"Oh,  no!  I'll  do  anything,"  answered 
Pete. 

"  Well,  then,  when  these  gentlemen  put 
you  down  out  here  by  Goose  Creek,  can  you 
make  your  way  all  alone  by  the  Buried  Cas- 
tle to  Conscience  Pass  ?  " 

"  I  will  try  to,  and  I  won't  be  afraid." 

"Well,  take  this  revolver,  if  anything 
should  happen.  This  is  my  plan.  I  want 
Bill  and  Paddie  and  Jimmy  to  take  the  trail 
to  El  Dorado;  and,  when  they  drop  you, 
keep  right  on  with  speed,  and,  if  possible, 
get  there  ahead  of  the  pursuing  party. 
That  will  keep  'em  off  our  track  for  some 
time ;  for,  you  see,  I  want  you  to  meet  me  at 
Conscience  Pass.  Then  you  and  I  will  take 
our  way  by  the  Devil's  Gap,  and  in  due  time 
we'll  reach  the  Dutchmen's  Kitchen;  and 
from  there  I'll  send  you  flying  to  San  Fran- 
cisco." 


"Will  there  be  no  danger  to  yourself?" 

"None  at  all.  It's  you  they  are  after. 
Get  rid  of  you,  and  we  are  all  right.  Are 
you  ready  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bill :  "  give  us  the  boy." 

In  a  moment,  the  boy  was  mounted,  and 
off  they  started.  None  too  soon  either,  for 
hardly  were  they  out  of  sight  before  Jennie 
Baker  came  rushing  in. 

"  Oh,  they  are  going  to  lynch  him !  "  she 
said.  "  Big  Dick  has  got  them  all  excited. 
They  say  you  made  fools  of  'em,  and  they 
won't  stand  it !  " 

"  Well,  they'll  have  to  catch  the  boy  this 
time,  Jennie.  He's  taken  leg-bail." 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  said  Jennie. 

"  Yes,  he's  on  his  way  to  El  Dorado,  and 
to-morrow  night  he'll  be  on  his  way  to 
'Frisco." 

"If  they  don't  catch  him." 

"  Well,  they'll  have  to  run  to  catch  him." 

The  yelling  outside  increased,  and  the 
tramp  of  men.  Big  Dick's  voice  could  be 
heard.  He  was  trying  to  rouse  the  men, 
and  they  were  evidently  ready  to  obey  him. 
The  maddened  and  half-drunken  crowd  came 
reeling  up  to  the  door  of  Charlie's  cabin. 

"It's  no  use,"  said  Big  Dick.  "You 
must  give  him  up.  We  are  going  to  hang 
him." 

"  But  you've  tried  him,  and  acquitted  him; 
and  you  are  not  going  back  on  that,  are 
you?" 

"  Yes,  we  are.    That  was  a  sham." 

" Didn't  you  agree  to  stand  by  the  trial?" 

"  Yes,  if  they'd  hang  him,  but  not  if  they 
acquitted  him.  They'd  no  business  to  ac- 
quit him." 

"  But  they  did  do  it  fairly  and  squarely ; 
and,  if  you  hang  the  boy  now,  you'll  commit 
murder."  . 

"  I'll  take  care  of  that.  If  it  is  murder, 
who'll  punish  us?  Stand  out  of  the  way. 
Put  up  those  pistols." 

"  Well,  you  are  too  many  for  me.  If  you 
must  come  in,  come  in  and  make  yourselves 
at  home.  I  haven't  chairs  enough  for  only 
one." 

They  all  rushed  in. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


41 


"  Why,  there's  no  boy  here  t "  said  Big 
Dick. 

"  I  didn't  say  there  was,"  said  Charlie. 

"Where  in  the  devil  has  he  gone?" 

"  Home,  I  guess,"  said  Charlie.  "  He's 
quite  a  home  boy,  you  know." 

"  He's  not  in  his  own  hole,  for  we  looked 
there  as  we  came  along.  By  God,  he's  es- 
caped 1 " 

"  I  guess  he  has  then,  and  really  I  don't 
blame  him." 

"  Which  way's  he  gone  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  for  certain,  but  I  think  he's 
"•one  to  El  Dorado.  Billie  and  Paddie  and 
Jimmy  have  gone  that  way.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  little  Pete  went,  too ;  for  I  heard 
nim  say  something  about  going  to  'Frisco." 

u  Damn  it,  the  bird  has  flown  ! "  said  Dick. 
"  Well,  if  that's  so,  we'll  catch  him.  Plenty 
of  chance  between  here  and  El  Dorado,  and 
plenty  of  good  trees  all  along." 

Then  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste. 
In  fifteen  minutes,  a  company  of  a  hundred 
was  ready ;  and,  as  Charlie  sat  calmly  smok- 
ing in  his  cabin,  he  heard  the  thunder  of 
their  quick  tramp  as  they  went  dashing  from 
the  settlement. 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  moment  the  sounds  of  the  pursuing 
party  died  upon  the  ear,  Morton  left  his 
cabin,  and  prepared  at  once  to  start.  He 
was  soon  at  Conscience  Pass,  waiting  for  the 
boy.  It  was  about  midnight;  and  every- 
thing around  him  was  perfectly  still,  save 
the  dash  of  waters  and  the  slight  rustle  of 
the  trees.  The  tall  cliffs  loomed  up  into  the 
glittering  moonlight,  and  the  darkness  of 
the  retreating  valley  was  pierced  with  a 
thousand  silver  shafts.  He  listened  for 
every  sound.  He  dreaded  lest  something 
should  happen,  and  his  plans  prove  of  no 
avail.  The  boy  might  be  lost,  for  it  was  a 
somewhat  difficult  path  from  one  trail  to  the 
other.  He  tied  his  horses,  and  walked  impa- 
tiently in  the  direction  whence  the  little 
fugitive  would  come.  He  had  not  gone  far, 
when  he  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol.  lie 
was  soon  at  the  boy's  side,  who  stood  trem- 


bling, just  at  the  opening  of  an  immense 
defile. 

"  Did  you  see  anything  ?  "  said  Morton. 

" I  thought  I  did,"  said  the  boy.  "I  was 
frightened." 

"  Well,  if  there  was  anything,  it's  run  off. 
I  guess  you  are  tired.  I'll  carry  you  to  the 
horses." 

Morton  took  the  shrinking  fellow  in  his 
strong  arms,  and  put  him  upon  the  horse's 
back. 

"You  can  ride,  can't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Pete,  "  and  as  fast  as  you 
can  go." 

"  We'll  have  to  walk  for  a  spell,  until  we 
get  through  the  pass.  Then  we  can  go  like 
the  wind." 

They  picked  their  way  slowly  along  amid 
the  overhanging  rocks  that  came  so  close 
together,  at  times,  that  it  seemed  impossible 
to  proceed;  but,  always,  the  path  wound 
along,  and  somehow  there  was  a  narrow  pas- 
sage still  opening  to  the  adventurous  foot. 
Only  one  could  pass  at  a  time,  and  fre- 
quently the  travellers  were  obliged  to  dis- 
mount. Finally,  they  reached  a  broad  and 
open  space,  that  spread  far  toward  the  west. 
By  morning,  they  had  traversed  many  a 
mile.  How  beautifully  the  light  came  danc- 
ing over  the  hills  and  the  rocky  defiles  and 
green  plains  and  rushing  rivulets ! 

"  Here's  a  nice  spot,  and  I've  a  good  appe- 
tite for  breakfast.  Let  us  dismount  and 
take  a  hasty  meal." 

In  a  little  while,  the  coffee  was  made, 
which,  with  "  hard  tack  "  and  a  bit  of  ham, 
refreshed  them  wonderfully. 

"We've  a  long  journey  before  us,"  said 
Morton, —  "considerably  more  than  a  sab- 
bath-day's journey, —  but  the  object  is  equally 
as  good.  I  guess  we'll  fetch  it,  and  before 
another  morning  you'll  be  behind  the  iron 
horse,  and  can  say  good-by  to  all  pursuers." 

Many  a  long  mile  they  went  at  an  easy 
gallop.  It  was  a  gorgeous  day,  and  the 
scenery  on  every  hand  was  most  lovely. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  "  said  Morton. 

"  From  New  York, —  from  the  city." 

"I  thought  so.     Were  you  born  there?" 


42 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


"I  suppose  so.  I  don't  know  much 
about  it." 

"  Always  lived  there? " 

"Yes." 

"  Where  are  your  parents  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  What  made  you  come  West?" 

"  I  wanted  to  be  as  far  off  from  the  city 
as  I  could." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  made  out  to  come 
all  alone  to  California.  Haven't  you  any 
friends?" 

"  No,  unless  I  have  an  uncle  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. He  went  there  years  and  years  ago. 
I  shall  try  and  find  him." 

"  How  about  this  old  man  that  you  saw  ? 
Did  you  really  see  him  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  What  did  he  look  like?" 

"  Oh,  dreadful !  Dark,  bushy  eyebrows  ; 
thick  beard;  a  stooping  back;  long  arms; 
big  hands;  and  he  had  an  old  gray,  dirty 
suit  on." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  him  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  in  New  York  city, —  and  that's 
what  frightened  me  so.  I  used  to  meet  him 
there." 

"  And  you  wanted  to  fly  away  from  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Strange  we  couldn't  find  him.  What 
could  have  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  hope  we  shan't  meet  him,"  said  Pete. 

"I  wish  we  could  meet  him,  and  settle 
this  mystery.  Have  you  any  notion  what 
you  will  do?" 

"Only  to  get  away.  I  suppose  I  shan't 
starve." 

"•I  guess  not.  There's  always  a  way  to 
get  a  bite,  even  if  we  have  to  steal." 

"I  don't  like  to  steal." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  I  was  afraid  you  would. 
But  you  can  work,  even  if  you  are  little." 

"  Indeed  I  can.     I  can  do  lots  of  things." 

"  Yes,  you  can  black  boots,  or  keep  a  pea- 
nut stand,  or  sell  flowers.  You'll  want  some 
capital,  though,  to  start  with ;  and  I'll  loan 
you  some." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  I  may  become  rich,  who 
knows  ?  " 


Sunset  came,  and  they  stopped  and  rested 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  ate  their  supper. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  judge,  we've  about 
twenty  miles  to  go.  The  train  is  due  about 
four  in  the  morning.  We  shall  be  there 
bright  and  early.  If  it  is  not  behindhand, 
we  are  all  right.  We've  several  hours  the 
start  of  Big  Dick." 

They  were  tired  out,  and  the  horses  were 
tired;  but  in  good  time  they  arrived  at 
the  Dutchman's  Kitchen,  a  queer  little  sort 
of  place,  stuck .  away  among  the  hills,  on 
the  line  of  the  railroad  that  followed, 
through  the  mountain  defiles,  the  serpent- 
ine course  of  a  river.  Only  two  or  thre« 
houses  were  there,  or  rather  ranches  and 
the  station-house.  A  faint  light  was  burn- 
ing in  the  window  as  they  approached  it. 
The  depot-master  was  up  and  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

"  Time  for  the  train  ?  "  asked  Morton. 

"  It's  two  hours  behind  time." 

"  Whew,"  said  Morton,  "  that's  a  close  rub. 
How  far  is  it  from  here  to  El  Dorado  ?  " 

"  Forty  miles." 

"And  a  bad  road.  I  guess  we'll  euchre 
'em.  Their  horses  must  be  pretty  well  tired 
out." 

Nevertheless,  it  was  pretty  hard  work  to 
wait  two  hours  for  a  train,  especially  when 
there  was  so  much  danger  in  delay. 

"  We'll  watch  for  'em,"  said  Morton ; 
"  and,  if  they  beat  the  train,  we'll  run  again. 
We  can  dodge  round  pretty  well  among 
these  hills." 

The  glorious  sun  came  shining  over  the 
hills,  and  the  Dutchman's  Kitchen  looked 
resplendent,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  sparkling 
jewels  tossed  from  the  hills  round  about. 

"  I  think  I'd  like  to  live  here,"  said  Pete, 
"only  I'd  be  afraid  that  old  man  might 
come  round,  and  then  I  should  have  to  run 
again." 

"  Yes,  this  would  be  a  comfortable  place," 
said  Charlie.  "  You  and  I  could  live  quite 
nicely  together.  We  could  hunt  and  fish 
and  have  a  patch  of  potatoes." 

"  That  would  be  nice,"  said  Pete. 

"  We'll  arrange  that  some  time.     Let  me 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


43 


hear  from  you  when  you  are  safe  and  sound 
in  'Frisco." 

"  I'll  get  somebody  to  write  and  tell  you 
all  about  my  fortune.  I  don't  want  to  lose 
you." 

"  ISTor  I  you,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  really  have 
taken  a  liking  to  you,  though  you  are  a  poor 
devil.  I  believe  you  might  amount  to  some- 
thing, if  you  had  advantages." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Pete. 

"  Don't  give  up.  There's  always  a  chance." 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  it's  mighty  hard.  There 
seems  to  be  something  that's  always  pushing 
a  fellow  down.  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  devil." 

"  There's  something  as  bad  as  one ;  but, 
with  courage,  we  can  get  the  better  of  it. 
There's  as  much  good  luck  as  ill  luck." 

"  Then  I  must  begin  to  have  heaps  of 
good  luck,  for  all  my  life  I've  had  nothing 
but  bad." 

"  You  are  young  yet.  I  guess  you'll  have 
a  good  ending,  in  spite  of  your  bad  begin- 
ning. Here's  a  bag  of  gold  to  take  along 
with  you.  Don't  lose  it.  It's  the  best 
friend  you  will  ever  find." 

"Excepting  you.  I  owe  you  my  life,  at 
the  risk  of  your  own." 

"  That's  all  right.  I  did  it  to  satisfy  my 
conscience.  I'd  been  a  mean  fellow,  if  I 
hadn't.  You  can  pay  me  back  some  time." 

"I  hope  so." 

"  Hullo  1  I  believe  that's  Big  Dick  away 
off  on  the  mountain  there,"  burst  out  Mor- 
ton, while  looking  through  his  field  glass. 
"  He's  a  couple  of  miles  off.  It'll  take  him, 
over  that  rough  road,  at  least  twenty  min- 
utes to  arrive  here.  The  train  is  due,  and 
in  ten  minutes  more  you  are  safe." 

Morton  bent  down  and  put  his  ear  on  the 
track. 

"  It's  coming,"  said  he.  "  Dick'll  just  miss 
his  game,  I  guess." 

The  train  rattled  up.  Little  Pete  jumped 
on  board,  Morton  pressed  his  hand  and  bade 
him  good-by,  and  soon  he  saw  the  train 
winding  around  the  crag,  and  then  it  disap- 
peared. 

"  I  wish  I'd  gone  too,"  said  he.  "  I  begin 
to  feel  lonely  without  that  little  chap." 


He  turned,  and  met  Big  Dick  and  his 
party  galloping  up  to  the  station. 

"  Too  late  again,  by  God,"  said  Dick. 

"  You  should  get  up  earlier  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Morton,  "  or  rather  you  shouldn't 
go  to  bed.  I  didn't.  Your  goose  is  cooked ; 
but  you'll  have  to  eat  him  in  San  Fran- 
cisco." 

"  I'll  make  you  pay  for  this.  What  right 
had  you  to  intefere  and  save  the  little 
cuss  ?  " 

"The  same  right  that  you  had  to  hang 
him.  I've  got  the  better  of  you,  and  you 
might  as  well  call  it  quits.  You  don't  suf- 
fer because  his  neck  isn't  broken." 

"  That's  a  matter  of  opinion.  I  shan't  be 
satisfied  until  Maddox's  murder  is  avenged, 
for  he  did  me  many  a  good  turn.  We'll 
take  you  now.  Seize  him,  men ! " 

The  onset  was  so  quick  that  Morton 
could  not  defend  himself.  In  a  moment,  he 
was  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  placed  upon 
his  horse,  guarded  by  a  couple  of  Dick's 
men. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  said  Morton. 

"It  means  that  we  are  going  to  break 
your  neck,"  said  Dick. 

"I  don't  think  that'll  be  very  satisfac- 
tory," said  Morton. 

"It'll  satisfy  us." 

"You'll  be  sorry." 

"  I  guess  not.  I'm  not  going  to  hunt  a  hun- 
dred miles  for  nothing.  I've  caught  you, 
and  the  boy  may  go  to  the  devil." 

That's  the  trouble  with  lynch  law.  It 
doesn't  know  when  to  stop  in  its  mad  ca- 
reer. It  is  not  order,  it  is  simply  revenge ; 
and,  therefore,  at  times  it  becomes  fierce  in- 
justice. Big  Dick  was  angry,  and  his  im- 
petuous spirit  controlled  the  men  who  were 
with  him.  They  were  ready  to  do  anything 
in  their  blind  fury. 

Morton  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  reason 
with  them,  and  he  submitted  to  his  fate. 
He  might  as  well  reason  with  the  wind  as 
with  these  men  in  their  excited  state. 

"I  wish  you  would  untie  me,"  said  he 
to  Dick. 

"  Oh,  you'll  try  to  escape." 


44 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


"  Oh,  no  1  What's  the  use  ?  You'd  shoot  me, 
if  I  did.  Besides,  I  pledge  my  honor." 

"Unloose  him,  men  I  I'll  watch  him." 
Morton  was  unbound,  and  rode  along  with 
the  company. 

They  wound  their  way  up  the  denies  of 
the  mountain,  and  were  soon  far  from  any 
human  habitation. 

"  I  guess  we  are  in  our  country,"  said 
Dick,  "where  we  can  execute  our  own 
laws." 

They  halted. 

"Do  you  want  anything  to  eat?"  asked 
Dick. 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  it  wouldn't  digest  well. 

"  Then,  perhaps  we'd  better  hang  you  at 
once,  and  done  with  it." 

"I  presume  so.  I'm  in  no  hurry;  but 
you  can  suit  yourself." 

"  Have  you  any  message  to  leave  ?  " 

"  Yes.    I'd  like  to  write  a  letter  to  Bill." 

"I  don't  know  as  there's  any  paper  in 
camp,  or  pen  and  ink." 

"I've  a  pencil  and  paper,  and  this  stump'h 
do  for  a  table." 

He  sat  down,  or  rather  kneeled  down,  by 
the  stump,  and  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

Dear  Bill,—  The  little  chap  is  safe,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it.  He's  on  his  way  to  'Frisco ;  and  I  am 
going  to  take  a  long  journey  the  other  way.  I 
am  in  a  regular  orthodox  crowd,  and  they  are 
going  to  punish  the  innocent  in  the  place  of  the 
guilty.  They  can't  get  Pete,  and  so  they  are  go- 
ing to  take  me.  Well,  if  I  had  my  choice,  I'd  do 
it  over  again,  that's  all.  I'd  rather  live  —  but  I 
would  not  live  and  do  a  mean  thing  —  as  I  have 
done  in  the  past,  and  for  which  I  have  been  so 
punished.  How  sweetly  Madeline  shines  before 
me  now !  I  hope  I  have  made  myself  worthy  of 
her  and  of  your  friendship.  Take  charge  of  my 
affairs.  What  I  have  left  give  to  little  Pete.  Yon 
will  hear  from  him,  and  do  not  tell  him  my  fate, 
if  you  can  help  it ;  and,  when  you  write  East,  you 
can  simply  say  that  I  am  dead.  I  wonder  what 
it  is  to  die.  I  have  no  fear,  only  I  do  not  like 
the  way ;  but  so  it  has  come,  and  that's  the  end 
of  it,  and  I  see  no  way  to  change  it.  What  we 
can't  help,  we  need  not  fret  about.  Good-by, 
yom,  and  the  rest  of  my  comrades.  CHARLIE. 

"  Here's  a  good  tree  right  up  here,  hang- 


ing over  the  cliff.  Fetch  him  along,  and 
the  rope." 

Dick  flung  the  rope  over  the  tree.  Charlie 
said  nothing  while  they  adjusted  the  noose 
about  his  neck. 

"  You  take  it  easy,"  said  Dick.  "  I  almost 
think  you  admire  hanging." 

"  Not  at  all,  but  I  see  no  use  in  crying." 

"You  are  right  there.  Everything  is 
ready.  You  see  the  limb  hangs  right  over 
the  cliff.  If  you  piefer,  you  can  step  off." 

"1  don't  care  to  save  you  the  trouble. 
That's  your  business,  not  mine." 

A  couple  of  strong  arms  pushed  him  over 
the  cliff.  With  a  sort  of  convulsive  lurch, 
he  seized  the  rope  with  his  hands ;  and,  as 
he  rolled  along,  the  limb  to  which  it  was  fas- 
tened broke,  and  with  a  quick  crash  he 
went  tumbling  down  into  the  ravine. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

"  How  are  you,"  said  Dick,  looking  over 
the  precipice, —  "  safe  and  sound  or  dead  ?  " 

"Safe,  but  not  very  sound,"  said  Morton. 
"  I've  sprained  my  ankle  and  can  hardly  stir." 

"You  can't  escape  then.  Do  you  prefer 
to  stay,  or  shall  we  help  you  out  and  finish 
our  job  ?  " 

"  Help  me  out.  I'd  rather  have  my  neck 
broke  than  die  of  starvation." 

"Well,  I  s'pose  it's  only  fair  that  we 
should  help  you  out,  though  how  we  are 
going  to  do  it  I  don't  know.  It's  rather 
dangerous  climbing  down.  I  might  break 
my  neck.  I'll  call  it  quits,  and  let  you 
alone." 

"That's  not  fair.  If  you  are  going  to 
hang,  then  hang  fair  and  square ;  but,  if  you 
are  not,  then  it's  your  business  to  help  a 
fellow." 

"  That's  logic,  and  I  cave  in.  I'll  get  you 
out  somehow,  and  hang  you  on  a  stout  limb 
next  time." 

It  was  a  difficult  matter,  however,  to  get 
down  to  where  Charlie  was.  Dick  really 
did  risk  his  neck  in  trying  to  do  it ;  but  he 
finally  succeeded  in  clambering  to  the  side 
of  Charlie. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


45 


"I  don't  see  how  you  got  here  without 
breaking  your  neck,"  said  Dick. 

"  I  suppose  I  should  have  broken  it,  if  I 
had  been  in  any  other  predicament,"  said 
Charlie;  "but  having  the  rope  around  my 
neck,  why  I  escaped  with  the  fortune  of  a 
drunken  man,  who,  you  know,  always  comes 
right  side  up  with  care." 

"  Well,  how  to  lift  you  back  again  and  try 
it  over  is  the  next  question.  Is  your  foot 
really  sprained  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can't  step  on  it.  I  reckon  you'll 
have  to  drag  me  up." 

"  I'll  take  the  rope  off  your  neck  then ;  for 
I  don't  'spose  you  want  to  be  lifted  by  that. 
I  must  unfasten  it  too  from  that  branch,  if  I 
can  get  hold  of  it.  It's  tumbled  over  that 
big  rock;  and,  if  I  should  slip,  my  neck 
wouldn't  be  worth  much." 

Dick  clambered  over  the  rock  to  the 
broken  branch.  The  moment  he  reached  it, 
he  uttered  a  loud  cry. 

"  Hello !  "  said  he.  "  If  I  haven't  struck 
a  mine.  A  dead  body,  and  who  in  the  devil 
is  it  V  "  And  he  leaped  back,  dragging  the 
body  with  him. 

"Why,"  said  Charlie,  "that's  the  very 
fellow  that  little  Pete  described.  Examine 
him.  You  may  find  some  evidence  of  the 
murder." 

"Sure  as  you  are  alive,  it's  here,"  said 
Dick.  "  This  is  Maddox's  money.  I  know 
it;  and  here  is  his  pocket-book,  and  here  are 
papers  belonging  to  the  chap  himself.  That 
beats  me.  He  did  the  murder.  By  thun- 
der, I'm  glad  we  didn't  hang  the  boy.  Bully 
for  you,  pard  1  Here's  my  hand.  Take  the 
money  and  the  papers.  I  know  you'll  do  the 
right  thing  by  'em.  Hullo,  men,  come  down 
here,  a  couple  of  ye,  and  give  a  lift.  We 
must  pull  Charlie  out  of  this  scrape :  he's  the 
best  of  us  all  now." 

The  men  came  down  and  worked  with  a 
will,  and  almost  by  main  force  with  the  aid 
of  the  rope  they  bore  him  up  over  the  rocks, 
and  soon  he  was  triumphantly  mounted  and 
on  his  way  to  Golden  Throne. 

Of  course,  Americans  always  must  have  a 
mass  meeting  and  speeches  and  resolutions, 


when  tlt.ere  is  such  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of 
men  as  this  of  Charlie's.  Judge  Pilkins 
called  all  the  inhabitants  of  Golden  Throne 
together,  that  they  might  congratulate  the 
conquering  hero.  The  judge  made  a  very 
elaborate  speech,  in  the  course  of  which  he 
applauded  everybody.  Sammy  Grub  bins  in- 
troduced a  series  of  resolutions,  in  which 
Mr.  Charles  Morton  received  the  thanks  of 
the  whole  community  for  his  devotion  to  the 
cause  of  innocence.  Some  one,  in  the  ardor 
of  his  enthusiasm,  moved  that  Morton  be 
nominated  for  the  legislature ;  but  this  was 
against  the  grain  of  Grubbins,  for  he  him- 
self wanted  to  be  nominated,  and  it  placed 
him  in  rather  an  amusing  dilemma.  But 
Morton  set  all  things  right  by  saying  that 
he  had  no  desire  for  office,  and  that  he  was 
already  pledged  to  the  support  of  his  friend 
Grubbins.  This  made  Grubbins  happy,  and 
he  poured  forth  an  eloquent  speech,  which 
was  followed  by  Sol  Jones,  Paddie  John, 
Jimmy,  Prince  Hal,  and  others,  and  then 
they  all  adjourned  to  Tim  Baker's  bar-room. 

"  Well,"  said  Paddie,  "  we've  been  pretty 
much  mixed  up,  and  it's  wonderful  how 
things  are  straightened.  It  looks  as  if  there 
was  a  providence  in  this." 

"Luck  is  awful  strange  anyway,"  said 
Morton.  "It  scares  one  to  think  of  it. 
That  I  should  be  strung  up  right  over  the 
dead  body  of  this  miserable  tramp,  and 
then,  instead  of  breaking  my  neck,  break 
the  limb  and  tumble  right  upon  him.  That 
was  a  time  when  a  special  providence  was 
very  desirable." 

"  But  there's  lots  of  times  when  the  spe- 
cial providence  don't  come  in,  and  things  go 
to  the  devil.  So  you  see  that  providence  is 
altogether  too  special.  We  can't  depend 
upon  it.  There's  good  luck  indeed,  but 
there's  a  sight  of  poor  luck  also.  If  there 
was  a  real  providence,  there  would  be  only 
good  luck." 

Things  went  on  as  usual  at  Golden  Throne 
for  about  a  month ;  and  then  Jimmy,  the- 
minister,  came  to  Morton  and  said, — 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  reform." 

"  What  put  that  into  your  head  ?  I  thought 


46 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


you  were  in  the  last  ditch,  and  didn't  propose 
to  reform  any  more." 

"  Well,  I  did  think  so.  But,  then,  I  like 
variety ;  and  this  lying  in  the  ditch  all  the 
time  is  rather  monotonous.  I'm  going  to 
clean  up,  and  see  how  it  feels." 

"  But  what  started  you  ?  Have  you  had 
a  visitation  from  the  Holy  Ghost  ?  " 

"  No.  This  time,  I  act  through  common- 
sense." 

"  Then,  I  have  some  hopes  of  you.  But 
how  did  you  happen  to  be  so  common-sense  V" 

"Come  to  my  cabin,  and  I'll  tell  you. 
There's  always  a  cause  for  an  effect,  you 
know." 

"  That  I  admit ;  but  I  can't  imagine  what 
should  so  affect  you.  I  thought  the  whiskey 
bottle  was  all-powerful,  and  that  you  and  it 
were  sworn  friends." 

"  We  are ;  but  occasionally  we  have  a  lov- 
ers' quarrel.  In  this  case,  however,  I  have 
a  new  friend,  and  as  long  as  he  lasts  I  am 
sure  of  regeneration.  At  any  rate,  he  won't 
let  me  lie  in  the  gutter." 

When  they  entered  Jimmy's  almost  tum- 
ble-down cabin,  he  went  to  the  hearth,  dug 
up  a  stone,  and  out  of  a  hollow  drew  several 
well-filled  bags,  and  rolled  their  contents  out 
upon  the  floor.  They  were  shining  nuggets 
of  gold. 

"  There's  about  twenty  thousand  dollars," 
said  Jimmy.  "  Isn't  that  a  good  friend  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  so.    You've  been  lucky." 

"  I  have  for  the  past  few  weeks,  and  I've 
kept  it  to  myself.  I've  worked  like  a  dog  to 
scrape  these  together.  I  struck  the  vein  a 
month  ago.  It  stirred  me  like  fire." 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  I'll  know  what  it  is  to  be 
rich.  I've  worked  day  and  night,  and  have 
hardly  drunk  a  drop;  and  now  I  am  rich, 
comparatively.  I've  never  been  so  before, 
and  honestly  it  makes  me  strong.  I  feel 
like  a  new  man.  I  feel  fresh  power  within 
me.  Oh,  there's  nothing  like  money  to  put 
the  pluck  into  one!  It's  worth  more  than 
any  Holy  Ghost.  It  makes  a  man  of  me 
once  more." 

"I  congratulate  you,  indeed  I  do,"  said 
Morton.  "  I'm  glad  you've  struck  it. 


Money  rules  this  world,  and  when  that 
smiles  upon  you  you  are  safe.  What's  your 
plan?" 

"  I'm  going  East.  I'm  hungry  for  civili- 
zation, for  books,  and  papers,  men  and 
women,  art,  pictures,  culture.  I  will  revel  in 
them." 

"  Will  you  preach  again  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  want  to,  that  is,  if  I 
could  be  free  in  speech,  as  my  imagination  is 
free.  Oh,  I  hate  these  creeds;  but  I  do 
enjoy  preaching.  It's  the  most  exquisite 
pleasure  of  life  to  pour  out  your  emotion 
in  a  flood  of  beautiful  language,  to  be  en- 
tranced yourself  and  to  entrance  your  hear- 
ers. But  I  suppose  I  must  give  it  up.  I 
don't  know  what  I  will  do,  float  round  for  a 
spell.  Oh,  it  is  such  a  joy  to  be  rich,  and 
to  be  open  and  free  to  all  the  fine  influences 
of  this  world.  .What  a  curse  is  poverty, 
when  it  shuts  you  off  from  these  and  you 
must  drudge  in  darkness !  I  can  be  a  man 
now  through  the  power  of  these  little  bits 
of  gold.  Without  them,  I  should  be  weak, 
indeed.  Oh,  gold !  gold  !  what  a  magician 
thou  art !  how  beautiful !  how  wonderful ! 
Come  and  touch  my  life  with  thy  thrilling 
fingers."  And  he  threw  handfuls  of  gold 
into  the  air,  and  they  came  gleaming  and 
dancing  down  upon  his  head,  and  tumbled 
and  dashed  upon  the  floor  like  flakes  of 
fire. 

"You  are  going  somewhere  near  where 
Maddox  lived,  aren't  you  ?  "  said  Charlie. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so.  I  remember  he  and  I 
came  from  the  same  section.  We  used  to 
talk  about  it.  He  has  a  little  daughter  there 
somewhere." 

"  I  want  you  to  find  her,  and  take  this  to 
her, —  about  a  thousand  dollars,  the  savings 
of  old  Maddox." 

"I'll  do  that,  I'm  going  to  start  to-mor- 
row. I'm  in  a  hurry.  You'll  go  with  me  to 
the  station,  won't  you  ?  I'll  leave  my  claim 
with  you.  I  think  it's  worth  something,  and 
we'll  divide." 

"  It's  a  bargain.  I'll  make  the  most  of  it. 
I'll  go  with  you  to  El  Dorado." 

The  best  wishes  of  the  camp  were  show- 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


47 


ered  upon  Jimmy  as  he  took  his  departure 
the  next  day. 

"If  I  weren't  so  confounded  lazy,  I'd  go 
with  you,"  said  Prince  Hal.  "  I  want  to 
see  the  States,  but  I  never  expect  to  leave 
Golden  Throne.  I've  travelled  all  I'm  going 
to.  I  wouldn't  even  get  on  board  a  palace 
car,  if  it  went  by  my  very  door." 

Judge  Pilkins  shook  hands  with  him  pon- 
derously, while  the  fortunate  Jimmy  dropped 
a  bit  of  gold  into  his  hand  to  maintain  his 
dignity  with,  I  suppose;  while  Grubbins 
metaphorically  waved  over  him  the  stars 
and  stripes,  and  shook  hands  with  a  hearty 
E  pluribus  unum. 

One  wave  was  thus  dropped  out,  but  the 
little  community  at  Golden  Throne  kept 
heaving  and  tumbling  along.  Something 
new  was  happening  every  day ;  but  it  failed 
to  be  recorded,  and  therefore  it  rests  in 
golden  silence.  Occasionally,  news  from  the 
great  world  dropped  in  upon  them ;  and,  if 
anything  very  remarkable  was  going,  the 
people  at  Golden  Throne  would  hear  of  it, 
and  what  was  deepest  in  the  advancing  tides 
of  the  world  they  generally  realized.  Some 
of  Ingersoll's  books  floated  up  into  this  re- 
tired spot,  and  they  were  eagerly  devoured. 
Many  of  these  rough  miners  sympathized 
with  the  eloquent  and  audacious  thought  of 
the  brilliant  infidel,  who  seemed  to  be  voic- 
ing some  of  the  strongest  and  sweetest  im- 
pulses of  the  human  heart.  His  books  were 
full  of  poetry :  they  flashed  with  the  splendid 
light  of  genius,  and  stirred  the  soul  like  the 
"  gorgeous  vision  of  an  Iliad  "  or  the  "  mys- 
tic, unfathomable  song"  of  a  Dante.  He 
struck  the  key-note  of  a  new  age,  of  a 
sublinier  and  more  beautiful  unfolding  of 
our  common  humanity. 

And  so,  when  it  was  rumored  that  In- 
gersoll  was  to  make  a  speech  in  the  grand 
opera  house  at  San  Francisco,  there  was  an 
instant  determination  to  go  and  hear  him, 
although  Golden  Throne  was  five  hundred 
miles  away ;  but  what  is  five  hundred  miles 
to  a  rollicking  Californian. 

"  I  want  to  hear  that  man,"  said  Morton. 
"I  want  to  see  him  face  to  face.  He  has 


done  me  more  good  than  any  living  human 
being.  He  comes  nearer  to  nature  than  any 
man  I  know  of." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Burnham.  "  In- 
gersoll  is  our  man.  He  knows  the  spirit  of 
the  age.  No  man  is  more  grandly  real, 
and  that's  what  we  want.  The  world  is  full 
of  humbug,  and  Ingersoll  is  the  man  to 
destroy  it." 

"You  can  count  on  me,"  said  Paddie. 
"  I'm  ready  for  any  adventure.  Ingersoll  is 
my  man,  because  his  speech  is  like  music, 
like  a  fountain  of  silvery  waters,  which  yet 
sparkle  like  dagger  and  cut  deep  and  deadly. 
The  old  theology  can't  stand  such  attacks. 
I  say  let  us  all  go.  Come,  Pilkins,  it'll  give 
you  a  pound  of  flesh  less,"  with  laughter 
holding  both  his  sides. 

"  That's  a  temptation,  for  I'd  give  a  pound 
of  gold  for  every  pound  I  could  get  rid  of 
till  I  could  button  my  coat.  But  I  can't 
carry  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  up  hill 
and  down  to  San  Francisco.  Besides,  I'm 
a  little  afraid  of  Bob.  He  ought  to  be 
more  gentle.  He  does  smash  things.  The 
churches  are  good  things  in  their  way. 
They  are  nice  places  for  an  after-dinner  nap, 
and  the  ministers  —  well,  I  don't  know  what 
we  should  do  with  them  if  they  didn't 
preach.  They  certainly  wouldn't  work." 

"  You  are  conservative,"  said  Paddie ; 
"but  Grubbins,  I  guess,  '11  go.  He  don't  be- 
lieve in  humbug,  for  he's  not  fat.  He  has  a 
lean  and  hungry  look,  like  Cassius." 

"  I  admit  that  I  should  enjoy  Ingersoll," 
said  Grubbins.  "Intellectually,  I  thoroughly 
agree  with  him;  but,  practically,  I  disagree. 
I  speak  to  you  confidentially,  and  not  to  the 
crowd.  You  see  I'm  going  into  politics, 
and  I  must  regard  the  prejudices  of  the 
people.  I  can't  be  an  outspoken  infidel.  I 
should  never  get  to  Congress,  if  I  was. 
Therefore,  I  must  keep  my  intellectual  opin- 
ions to  myself.  I  must  help  pay  the  min- 
ister, I  must  go  to  a  prayer  meeting  occa- 
sionally, and,  when  the  time  comes,  take  to 
the  anxious  seat ;  and,  as  the  Baptists  are 
getting  to  be  pretty  numerous  about  here,  I 
may  have  to  be  baptized.  All  this,  I  admit, 


48 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


is  a  nuisance ;  but  what  can  I  do  ?  I  am 
ambitious." 

"Do  nothing  but  serve  the  times,"  said 
Paddie.  "If  you  are  willing  to  pay  the 
price,  I  suppose  you'll  get  the  reward,  for  you 
are  smart  enough.  All  our  politicians  have 
to  put  their  nose  on.  They  must  follow  the 
beck  of  the  crowd.  They  must  worship  the 
vulgar  god.  A  politician  can't  be  original 
or  wise.  He  must  be  shrewd  and  imitative, 
a  parrot  and  an  owl.  I  won't  betray  you, 
Grubbins.  You  are  honest  enough,  as  the 
world  goes.  I  don't  want  the  loaves  and 
fishes,  and  so  I  can  speak  my  mind.  You, 
of  course,  mast  be  a  stick, —  something  that 
the  crowd  can  carry,  and  use  to  beat  the 
drum  of  their  own  conceit.  You'd  better 
not  hear  Ingersoll.  It  might  make  you  too 
bold  and  sincere.  If  you  want  to  go  ahead, 
just  stop  your  ears.  Don't  hear  anything 
new.  Here's  Prince  Hal.  He's  not  ambi- 
tious. He's  studied  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
ought  to  be  a  seeker  for  knowledge." 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  studied  Greek  and 
Latin,"  said  Prince  Hal.  "I  hate  to  re- 
member, and  it's  too  much  trouble  to  forget. 
I  don't  want  to  know  anything.  What's 
the  use?  Opinions  are  a  bother.  I  don't 
want  opinions.  I  can't  use  them.  I  wish  I 
didn't  have  to  think.  What  does  it  all 
amount  to  ?  Give  me  a  cigar  under  a  tree, 
and  I  am  happier  than  the  wisest  philoso- 
pher. You  all  of  you  keep  fretting  and 
arguing.  I  don't  fret  or  argue.  I  don't 
care  a  damn  what's  true,  only  what's 
easy.  Good-by.  I've  sat  up  now  for  half 
an  hour,  and  it's  time  to  go  to  bed." 

"I  don't  s'pose  you'll  go,  Gooch,"  put  in 
Paddie  again,  to  the  deacon. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Gooch.  "  I  should  expect 
the  Lord  would  blast  me  with  his  lightnings, 
if  I  did.  Why,  I  have  prayed  for  the  Lord 
to  put  a  hook  in  that  man's  mouth.  I  won- 
der that  he  don't,  my  prayers  have  been  so 
earnest.  It'll  come.  Jehovah  is  long-suffer- 
ing, but  his  day  is  at  hand.  Sinners  shall 
quake.  I  warn  you  to  flee.  I  believe  that 
Ingersoll  is  the  devil  himself.  I've  never 
seen  him  or  read  bis  books.  I  wouldn't  dare 
to,  but  I  know  that  he's  awful  bad." 


"We'll  take  our  chances,"  said  Paddie. 
"  We'll  start  to-morrow.  I  advise  you  to  go, 
deacon.  You  may  get  your  eyes  open,  and 
there'll  be  a  chance  for  you  to  be  something 
more  than  an  idiot  or  something  less  than 
a  rogue." 

CHAPTER  XH. 

IT  was  a  bright  morning  when  they  went 
forth,  these  stanch  and  motley  pilgrims. 
Away  they  passed,  by  the  Buried  Castle  aud 
the  Throne  Room  and  Conscience  Pass,  by 
the  weird  and  mighty  forms  of  that  occi- 
dental world.  It  was  a  gay  and  rollicking 
set,  with  a  varied  individuality,  such  as 
could  only  be  found  in  the  West.  Each  was 
sui  generis,  a  child  of  nature,  and  not  a  mere 
echo  of  civilization. 

Paddie  John  and  Charlie  and  Bill  and 
Sol  Jones,  and  Tim  and  Jennie  Baker,  and 
Big  Dick  made  up  the  little  company. 
They  strolled  leisurely  along,  for  there  was 
plenty  of  time,  and  they  wanted  to  enjoy 
the  beautiful  and  romantic  country  through 
which  their  journey  lay.  They  expected  to 
go  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  on  horseback, 
and  then  strike  the  railroad.  Emerging 
from  Conscience  Pass,  a  superb  and  spark- 
ting  scene  lay  before  them.  A  wide  valley, 
gemmed  by  a  noble  stream,  trended  through 
the  ample  range  of  hills.  Through  this  val- 
ley, they  slowly  travel ;  while,  on  every  hand, 
new  and  dazzling  prospects  constantly  ap- 
pear. At  the  farther  end  of  it,  the  stream 
gathers  and  pours  itself  in  a  brilliant  cata- 
ract, over  which  hung  a  veil  of  intensest 
prismatic  colors.  One  might  imagine  that 
here  was  the  entrance  to  some  fairy  grotto. 

"  What  a  life  nature  has ! "  said  Paddie. 
"  She  is  always  doing  the  unexpected.  Who 
would  have  tji ought  of  such  a  scene  as  this? 
It  never  was  got  up  to  order.  It  was  a  pure 
freak.  See  how  the,  rocks  are  huddled  to- 
gether, and  what  fantastic  leaps  the  water 
takes,  waltzing  around  into  all  sorts  of 
queer  corners  and  plunging  forth  from 
a  thousand  intricacies.  I  am  sometimes 
tempted  to  be  a  hermit,  and  dwell  forever  in 
this  beauteous  solitude.  Man  can't  give  me 
such  variety  as  this." 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


49 


"  You'll  find  he  can,  when  he's  in  the  right 
spot,"  said  Charlie.  "Many  a  soul  is  like 
this  cataract,  and  pours  itself  in  the  same 
fashion." 

"  But  not  until  it's  all  alone,"  said  Paddie. 
"I  don't  believe  you  can  reconcile  nature, 
and  civilization.  They  are  antagonistic. 
Men  have  to  be  smoothed  off  in  order  to 
live  together  in  peace,  and  that  spoils  'em. 
I  think  every  man  ought  to  be  a  savage  and 
roam  as  wild  as  the  wind,  then  he'll  amount 
to  something." 

"  I  don't  like  that  style,"  said  Charlie.  « I 
don't  want  to  paddle  my  own  canoe.  I  like 
the  palace  car  and  the  steamship  and  the 
telegraph.  Art  is  superior  to  nature." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  art  V  "  said  Paddie. 

"I  mean  the  life  which  controls  and 
shapes,  and  not  simply  flows  along  like  this 
cataract." 

"By  art,  you  mean  creation,  then?"  said 
Burnham. 

"  In  that  sense,  yes,"  said  Morton.  "  And 
that,  I  suppose,  is  what  men  vaguely  express 
by  the  term  God.  There  is  a  godlike  qual- 
ity in  the  universe, —  that  is,  a  creative 
genius :  only,  like  all  else,  it  is  limited  and 
finite,  and  can  only  accomplish  certain  ends. 
There  can  be  no  infinite  God:  whatever 
god  there  is  is  a  struggling  and  developing 
one.  He  grows." 

"  And  he  will  never  stop  growing,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Paddie. 

"  I  hope  not ;  for,  if  he  does,  then  he  will 
die." 

"  Well,  the  gods  come  and  go  like  other 
ihings,"  said  Paddie,—  "  like  the  flowers  and 
nke  this  cataract.  This  would  be  a  hum- 
drum universe  if  one  being  was  forever 
playing  his  part.  The  best  becomes  a  bore, 
if  we  have  too  much  of  it."  . 

"And  philosophy,  also,"  said  Charlie. 
"  So  let's  change,  and  have  something  to  eat. 
It's  about  noon,  and  here's  a  jolly  place  to 
lunch, —  good  as  a  palace.  What  pictures 
we  have  to  look  at,  and  how  grandly  these 
trees  hang  over  us,  and  the  ground  beneath 
them  is  smooth,  almost,  as  a  table  1  I  won- 
der who's  the  best  cook  ?  " 


"I'll  try  my  hand,"  said  Big  Dick.  " I'll 
build  the  fire.  I  s'pose  Jennie  is  the  boss 
for  making  coffee." 

"  I'll  do  that,  as  there's  no  table  to  set," 
said  Jennie. 

"You've  a  good  kitchen  to  work  in, — 
plenty  of  room,"  said  Charlie. 

"  There  is  nothing  jollier  than  having  all 
out-doors  for  your  dining-room,  and  an  ap- 
petite almost  as  big,"  said  Paddie. 

The  coffee  was  made  rich  as  any  that 
ever  touched  lip  at  Delmonico's,  and  the 
crackers  and  salt  pork  were  brought  forth, 
and  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  big  tree 
they  ate  their  noonday  meal. 

"  This  is  what  I  call  life,"  said  Charlie. 
"  How  much  pleasure  there  is  in  eating  a 
crust  of  bread,  when  you  really  need  it. 
The  curse  of  civilization  is  that  it  has  no 
appetite.  It  is  all  the  time  gorged." 

"  Gorged  in  spots,  that's  all,"  said  Paddie. 
"  Those  who  are  hungry  can't  get  anything 
to  eat,  and  those  who  can  are  never  hungry. 
Here  we  equalize  things:  we  are  hungry, 
and  we  have  enough  to  go  round." 

"  The  time  '11  come  when  folks  can't  go 
West,"  said  Bill.  "  I  wonder  what  the  world 
will  do  then." 

"  That's  a  long  look  ahead,"  said  Charlie. 
"  I'm  in  hopes,  however,  they'll  discover  the 
north  pole  and  find  a  way  inside.  It'll  be 
a  tough  world  when  people  can't  migrate, 
when  they  must  stay  put." 

"  I  don't  bother  my  head  about  that,"  said 
Dick.  "I've  plenty  of  room  while  I  live, 
and  I  mean  to  swing  round  in  it." 

"  We  are  the  lucky  ones,"  said  Sol.  "  We 
are  born  in  the  nick  of  time.  There's  elbow 
room  for  us." 

"  Yes,  everybody  has  a  chance  now,"  said 
Tim,  "  if  they  can  only  get  to  it." 

"  And,  if  they  can't  get  to  it,  they  must 
starve,"  said  Paddie. 

"  What  a  rush  and  tumble  it  is  1 "  said 
Charlie.  "  So  many  going  to  the  wall,  and 
yet  the  world  is  not  half-occupied." 

"  How  easily  Providence  might  fix  things, 
if  there  was  one  I "  said  Paddie.  "  He  could 
put  a  few  million  people  out  here,  and  they 


50 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


would  be  quite  happy ;  and  now  these  lauds 
are  going  to  waste,  and  these  millions  are 
starving." 

"It'll  come  right,"  said  Jennie,  "if  we 
only  do  right." 

"  That's  a  woman's  reason,"  said  Paddie. 
"  I  won't  dispute  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  grumbling,"  said  Jen- 
nie. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Paddie.  "  You've 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head.  We  must  do,  and 
what  we  can't  do  we  mustn't  fret  about." 

"Let  us  make  our  afternoon's  journey 
then,  while  the  universe  takes  care  of  itself," 
said  Charlie. 

On  they  went  in  the  bright  and  golden 
atmosphere,  amid  the  many  winding  and  far- 
stretching  hills.  How  beautiful,  how  won- 
derful all  that  country  is,  haunted  by  some 
strange  spirit,  as  if  in  the  long  ago  a 
mighty  people  dwelt  therein,  now  vanished, 
and  only  an  impalpable  presence  is  left  I 
The  form  of  the  hills  constantly  changes, 
opening  and  widening  and  breaking  into 
huge  defiles,  gemmed  with  glistening  lakes 
and  foaming  streams;  while  the  travellers 
pass  under  great  trees  that  seem  to  have 
touched  the  heavens  for  centuries,  so  vast 
the  branches  that  sway  in  the  air. 

The  long  afternoon  slowly  draws  to  its 
golden  close  ;  and  the  starry  wings  of  night 
mingle  with  the  dazzling  hues  of  sunset,  as 
they  prepare  for  their  night's  lodging  under 
the  dome  of  a  great  rock  called  the  "Pil- 
grim's Rest,"  where  evidently  many  before 
them  had  camped,  for  the  remains  of  charred 
branches  were  scattered  profusely  about. 

Dick,  as  usual,  built  the  fire.  He  was 
ready  to  do  anything.  He  never  shirked. 

Jennie  made  the  coffee ;  and,  while  the  fire 
blazed  brilliantly  up,  they  ate  and  talked. 
Who  so  royal  as  they,  free  as  the  air  and 
with  every  want  supplied? 

"  I  wonder  if  the  world  can  ever  live  like 
this,  without  any  police  officer  to  keep 
things  straight?  We  don't  need  any  State, 
why  should  the  world  need  it  ?  I  believe  in 
,  anarchy.  The  State  makes  more  trouble 
than  it  prevents,"  said  Paddie. 


"  Suppose  a  man  knocks  you  down  ?  "  said 
Charlie. 

"  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  it's  a  police  officer 
that  knocks  me  down,"  said  Paddie.  "If 
the  State  don't  meddle  with  my  rights,  I 
feel  that  nobody  else  will." 

"  You  believe  in  voluntary  goodness,"  said 
Charlie. 

"Indeed,  I  do.  There  is  a  natural  har- 
mony ;  and  people  will  seek  it  and  be  happy, 
if  you'll  let  them  alone.  I  tell  you  the 
State  has  been  a  curse.  It  is  the  protector 
of  wrong.  He  who  is  worth  millions  has 
the  benefit,  he  who  isn't  worth  a  cent  is 
crushed.  Don't  we  get  along  well  enough 
here?" 

"Yes,  while  there's  plenty ;  but,  when  there 
isn't  more  than  half  enough  for  us,  I  think 
there'll  be  some  fighting,  and  then  the 
strongest  gets  the  whole  of  it." 

"  The  earth  gives  all  we  need,  and  if  every 
one  worked  for  himself  there'd  be  plenty. 
It's  because  so  many  live  on  the  labors  of 
others  that  we  have  want." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Charlie.  "  But,  if  a 
man  won't  work,  will  you  make  him  work  ?  " 

"  We'll  let  him  starve.  He  can  have  his 
own  way,  and  welcome.  Sol,  I'll  leave  it  to 
you  if  politics  ain't  a  humbug,  if  it  wouldn't 
be  better  for  the  world  if  the  whole  thing. 
President  and  all,  were  dumped  into  the 
limbo  of  fools.  You  have  had  your  share 
of  the  thing,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  I  assure  you,  except  spoils," 
answered  Sol. 

"  How  did  it  happen,"  said  Charlie,  "  that 
you  got  pitched  over  ?  If  I  remember,  you 
were  once  talked  of  as  a  candidate  for  the 
presidency.  At  least,  you  were  suggested 
for  a  dark  horse.  And  now  you  are  digging 
in  the  mines.  Couldn't  you  dig  deep  enough 
into  the  pockets  of  the  people  ?  " 

"  Politics  is  a  strange  whirligig,"  said  Sol. 
"  You  don't  know  when  you  are  down  or 
when  are  up.  You  can't  calculate :  you 
don't  know  what  the  people  want,  for  they 
themselves  don't  know,  and  they  change 
their  minds  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I 
tried  to  follow  'em,  but  I  made  a  fool  of  my- 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


51 


self.  Why,  there  was  a  big  bill  up  in  Con- 
gress, and  I  was  offered  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  to  vote  for  it ;  but  I  virtuously  re- 
fused, because  I  was  convinced  that  the  peo- 
ple didn't  want  it,  for  it  was  really  against 
their  interest  and  an  enormous  swindle.  But, 
lo  and  behold !  the  people  did  want  it,  and 
they  came  down  on  me  like  a  thousand  of 
brick,  and  accused  me  of  being  bribed  and 
insulting  my  constituency,  etc.  That's  what 
knocked  me.  If  I  had  accepted  that  bribe 
and  voted  for  that  damned  bill,  I  verily  be- 
lieve I  should  have  been  President.  As  it 
was,  I  lost  the  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
and  I  lost  my  popularity  and  was  put  on 
the  shelf,  because  I  tried  to  please  the  peo- 
ple. Politics  is  a  game,  and  it  all  depends 
on  your  luck." 

"  We  ought  to  be  rid  of  politics  then," 
said  Paddie. 

"Agreed;  but,  if  we  were,  what  would 
you  do  with  all  the  damn  fools  and  loafers 
in  the  country?  You'd  have  no  place  for 
them.  Take  the  deviltry  that  is  in  poli- 
tics and  put  into  society,  and  we'd  all 
go  to  smash.  Congress  is  a  sort  of  safety- 
valve.  The  people  want  something  to  play 
with.  They  might  as  well  have  presidents 
and  senates.  The  real  work,  of  course,  is 
done  outside  by  people  who  scarcely  know 
who  is  elected." 

"  You'd  like  tp  try  it  again,  Sol,  wouldn't 
you?" 

« Indeed,  I  would,"  said  Sol.  "  It's  allur- 
ing as  a  game  of  cards.  I  may  have  another 
chance.  For  the  present,  however,  I  must 
give  way  to  Grubbins.  He's  the  rising  star. 
He  holds  a  good  hand." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Paddie,  "  I'd  rather 
take  up  my  quarters  with  Moccasin  Bill. 
You  know  him.  We'll  dine  with  him  to- 
morrow noon.  He  lives  in  the  ground,  has 
a  nice,  snug  hole,  and  is  as  independent  as 
an  emperor.  He  is  the  boldest  hunter  in 
the  Sierras,  and  has  all  the  delicacies  of  the 
season." 

"I've  heard  about  him,  but  haven't  seen 
him,"  said  Charlie. 

"He's  the  man  of  men,"  said  Paddie, — 


"  seven  feet  high,  straight  as  an  arrow,  strong 
as  a  bull,  and  tender-hearted  as  a  little  child. 
Did  you  ever  hear  that  story  about  him, 
which  explains  the  wonderful  power  he  has 
over  all  the  Indians  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  I  heard  of  it,"  said  Dick,  "  and  I  don't 
see  how  he  could  have  done  it.  I  thought 
he  must  have  been  crazy." 

"  It  was  a  strange  freak,  as  the  world  goes ; 
but  it  turned  out  to  be  a  mightv  good  thing. 
You  see  he  had  located  his  traps,  aud  plod- 
ded through  the  snow  every  day  to  secure 
game.  While  making  his  round  in  the 
midst  of  a  furious  storm,  furs  on  his  back 
and  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  he  heard  a  cryr 
faint  and  weak,  a  call  for  help.  He  re- 
sponded, and,  staggering  along,  found  an 
Indian  half-buried  in  the  snow  and  nearly 
perished.  It  took  all  his  strength,  but  he 
finally  brought  the  savage  to  his  cabin  and 
nourished  him  back  to  life.  Now,  this  Indian 
had  secreted  himself  upon  the  trail  of  the 
hunter  for  the  purpose  of  killing  him,  but 
succumbed  to  the  cold,  and  was  saved  by 
the  very  man  he  sought  to  slay." 

"  How  much  better  it  would  have  been  to 
have  scalped  the  Indian  ! "  said  Dick. 

"  Of  course  it  would,"  said  Paddie.  "  But 
the  would-be  murderer  pleaded  for  pardon, 
and  returned  to  his  tribe  and  related  his 
adventure.  From  that  day,  the  Indians  have 
honored  Moccasin  Bill,  and  will  do  anything 
he  wishes,  and  will  allow  no  one  to  molest 
his  traps.  So,  you  see,  he  did  a  good  thing 
after  all." 

"  He's  a  lucky  chap,"  said  Dick.  "  If  I'd 
done  it,  the  Indian  would  have  shot  me.  I 
don't  trust  'em." 

"  I've  been  with  the  Indians  a  good  deal," 
said  Tim  Baker.  "  I've  slept  with  'em,  been 
right  among  'em  for  days,  and  they  are  not 
the  worst  devils  in  the  world.  You  get  the 
right  side  of  'em,  and  they'll  do  you  any 
favor." 

"  But,  if  you  get  the  wrong  side  of  'em,  it's 
hell  and  blazes,"  said  Dick. 

Rolling  their  blankets  about  them,  they 
one  by  one  dropped  asleep. 

By  noon  the  next  day,  they  reached  the 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


"  dug  out "  of  Moccasin  Bill.  He  was  a 
magnificent  specimen  of  the  American  hun- 
ter. His  long  hair  fell  over  his  shoulders, 
and  descended  nearly  to  his  waist  in  natural 
curls;  while  his  beard,  that  had  known  no 
razor  for  thirty  years,  swept  his  breast.  He 
was  taller  than  any  of  his  companions ;  and, 
though  now  fifty  years  old,  he  was  as  active 
as  a  boy  of  twenty. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  my  camp,  boys,  and 
all  I've  got.  I've  a  splendid  venison,  just 
killed.  You  are  in  time  for  the  best  of  it." 

And  a  delicious  piece  of  venison  they 
had.  It  melted  in  the  mouth,  and  it's  juice 
was  as  sweet  and  stimulating  as  wine. 

"  Going  to  'Frisco  ?  "  asked  Moccasin  Bill. 

"  That's  our  destination,"  said  Paddie. 

"  Got  something  for  market,  I  s'pose." 

"  Not  yet.  We  are  seekers  after  wisdom 
now, —  going  to  hear  Ingersoll,  who  lectures 
next  week." 

"Ingersoll?  I  think  I've  heard  of  him. 
Didn't  he  write  an  oration  on  the  Gods  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then,  by  thunder,  I'll  go  with  you. 
He's  the  man  of  all  men  I  want  to  see.  A 
fellow  came  along  one  day,  and  read  me  that 
oration ;  and  it  has  stuck  in  my  memory  ever 
since.  It's  just  the  thing.  It's  true,  every 
word  of  it,  and  is  what  I've  thought  out  for 
myself  among  these  hills.  I  can't  read  or 
write,  but  I  can  think,  and  I  don't  believe 
in  any  gods.  I've  tramped  all  over  this 
country,  and  see  nothing  but  everlasting  nat- 
ure. From  her  I  came  and  to  her  1  return. 
I've  met  a  priest  now  and  then,  and  he's 
tried  to  talk  to  me,  but  I  never  could  stand 
it.  It's  a  lie,  and  I  know  it.  I'm  not  edu- 
cated enough  to  believe  such  stuff.  I've 
been  a  hunter  all  my  life  and  have  breathed 
the  free  air  of  heaven.  I've  not  had  a  day's 
sickness,  and  I've  never  had  to  depend  upon 
a  medicine-man.  Hurrah  for  Ingersoll !  As 
for  the  rest  of  civilization,  1  don't  care  that 
for  it,"  snapping  his  fingers. 

With  this  superb  addition  to  their  com- 
pany, they  pressed  along  and  reached,  the 
next  day  afternoon,  a  mail  station,  called 
Gurzle's  Ford.  Here,  they  purposed  to  take 


the  stage,  and  strike  the  railroad  at  Miller's 
Falls. 

The  coach  appeared  in  the  morning  after 
their  arrival,  Frank  Reno  holding  the  rib- 
bons and  driving  the  four  magnificent 
horses  with  skilful  hand.  He  was  the  most 
famous  driver  in  the  mountains,  having 
been  on  the  road  nearly  thirty  years. 

"Hullo,  Frank,"  said  Moccasin  Bill.  "I 
thought  I'd  try  a  ride  with  ye.  I've  a  no- 
tion for  'Frisco. " 

"  Glad  of  your  company,"  said  Frank. 
"  It's  seldom  I  see  you." 

"I  like  my  hole  in  the  mountains,"  said 
the  hunter,  "and  I'd  rather  go  afoot  than 
ride.  But  1  guess  I'll  try  it  behind  that 
team  of  yours.  They  look  as  if  they'd  give 
a  fellow  a  good  pull  over  these  hills." 

"  They'll  do  that.  I  know  'em,  and  I  can 
handle  'em  like  a  machine.  If  I  didn't, 
we'd  go  to  the  devil  sometimes.  It's  pretty 
steep  about  here." 

"That's  what  I  like,"  said  Paddie.  "I 
hope  you'll  go  like  lightning." 

"  I'll  go  as  fast  as  you  like,"  said  Frank. 
"  Wait  till  we  get  to  Pigtail  Alley,  and  see 
how  you  like  it." 

"  I've  heard  of  that.  We  take  the  coach 
for  the  special  purpose  of  going  down  that 
grade,"  said  Paddie.  "  Let  us  see  how  quick 
you  can  do  it." 

Away  they  started,  the  coach  rattling 
along  the  hard  road.  It  made  one  quiver 
to  be  hurled  along  with  such  fierce  rapidity. 

"  Stage-riding  beats  everything  else,  I  be- 
lieve," said  Paddie.  "  You  feel  like  a  witch 
in  the  air.  You  tumble  and  roll  along  as  if 
you  were  a  spirit,  and  had  no  neck  to  be 
broken.  We  whirl  close  to  the  precipice, 
and  yet  we  don't  go  over." 

"  No  use  to  go  over,"  said  Frank.  "  We've 
got  the  hang  of  these  mountains,  and  know 
how  to  hug  'em." 

"  Don't  you  have  any  accidents  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  though  I  never  had.  1  keep 
a  good  lookout.  Occasionally  there's  a  slip, 
and  then, —  well,  there's  a  sort  of  spreading 
out,  and  it's  pretty  hard  work  to  put  the 
pieces  together." 


GOLDEN    THRONE. 


53 


"I  should  think  so.  I  hope  you'll  keep 
us  kind  of  snug  together ;  but  I  don't  care 
how  fast  you  go,  if  you  don't  split." 

They  were  now  coming  to  the  top  of  Pig- 
tail Alley,  the  last  and  steepest  descent  be- 
fore they  came  to  Miller's  Falls.  It  wound 
about  an  enormous  precipice.  In  some  places, 
there  was  just  room  for  the  coach  to  roll 
along,  and  it  seemed  as  if  any  unsteady  mo- 
tion would  send  it  whirling  over  the  crags. 
There  was  one  point,  about  midway  down, 
where  the  curve  was  so  short  about  a  huge 
projection  that  the  leaders,  for  a  moment, 
were  lost  sight  of  as  they  advanced.  The 
descent  sharpened,  and  the  horses  began  to 
increase  somewhat  their  speed.  Frank,  as 
usual,  put  on  the  brakes.  When  he  did  so, 
from  some  inexplicable  cause,  they  broke, 
flinging  the  coach  suddenly  upon  the  heels 
of  the  hinder  horses,  and  they  leaped  for- 
ward. This  started  the  leaders,  and  soon 
all  were  plunging  pell-mell  down  the  moun- 
tain. There  was  no  possible  way  of  stopping 
them.  All  Frank  could  do  was  to  hold  the 
reins,  and  guide  them  steadily  and  skilfully. 

"If  we  get  round  Hunter's  Nose  safe," 
said  Frank,  "  I  don't  care.  But  I  don't  ex- 
pect it.  It's  my  opinion  that  we'll  shoot 
over." 

Death  was  indeed  before  them,  but  no  one 
seemed  to  mind  it.  Each  one  straightened 
himself,  and  prepared  to  meet  the  emer- 
gency. 

"  What  a  miracle  this  will  be,"  said  Pad- 
die,  "  if  the  churchmen  ever  find  out  that  we 
were  going  to  hear  Ingersoll,  and  got  top- 
pled over  the  precipice  for  our  pains  !  What 
a  shouting  there'll  be  among  the  elect !  " 

Away  they  dashed!  The  coach  heaved 
and  swayed  like  a  wave  in  the  storm.  They 
neared  the  turning-point  with  frightful  ve- 
locity. The  leaders  plunged  around,  and 
were  lost  to  view.  The  coach  swung  for- 
ward upon  its  two  outward  wheels.  The  pas- 
sengers could  look  down  into  an  immense 
gulf  for  thousands  of  feet,  and  they  seemed 
to  be  spinning  into  its  very  bosom.  Every 
nerve  was  braced  to  meet  the  dread  catas- 
trophe. 


CHAPTEB  XIII. 

FRANK'S  skilful  driving  saved  them.  He 
never  for  a  moment  lost  command  of  the 
horses.  The  coach  rolled  back  upon  its  four 
wheels  and  passed  Hunter's  Nose  in  safety. 
After  that  there  was  comparatively  little 
danger,  for  the  road  had  only  few  turns; 
and,  although  the  horses  went  at  full  speed, 
Frank's  firm  grip  held  them  in  the  right 
track. 

"This  is  splendid!"  said  Paddie.  "I 
never  went  so  fast  in  my  life  behind  a  horse. 
We  are  saved,  and  what  will  the  saints  say? 
And  such  a  good  time  as  we  have  had  of  it ! 
To  tumble  right  by  the  jaws  of  Death  like 
that,  and  euchre  him  at  last !  I  wouldn't 
like  to  try  it  again,  though.  I'm  afraid  you 
wouldn't  hold  so  good  a  hand  again,  Frank." 

"We  won't  try  it  over,"  said  Frank. 
"  Once  in  a  lifetime  is  enough.  But,  as  you 
say,  it's  fun ;  and  I'm  glad  we  did  have  a 
chance  to  see  how  fast  we  could  go  around 
that  point.  Only  a  little  more,  and  we'd  a 
gone." 

The  horses  dashed  two  hundred  feet  by 
the  station  before  they  could  be  stopped, 
they  were  going  at  such  wild  speed. 

"  Here's  my  hand,"  said  Moccasin  Bill  to 
Frank.  "  You  did  a  good  turn  there." 

"  That's  when  I  depended  upon  my  luck," 
said  Frank. 

"  Luck  of  course,"  said  Morton ;  "  but 
there  was  skill  also.  We  can't  pay  for  luck, 
that  belongs  to  all  of  us ;  but  I  chip  in  this 
bag  of  gold  for  your  skill." 

"And  I  too,"  said  the  rest;  and  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  two  or  three  hundred 
dollars  were  shoved  into  Frank's  hand.  He 
didn't  want  to  take  it;  but  in  the  end  he 
had  to,  and  then  there  was  a  treat  all  round. 

The  scream  of  the  iron  horse  was  heard, 
and  the  thunder  of  the  clattering  train ;  and, 
as  if  by  magic,  they  were  soon  sweeping  to 
the  Golden  Gates. 

It  was  evening  when  they  entered  the 
vast  and  splendid  city.  For  miles,  the 
lights  were  glittering;  and,  as  they  trav- 
ersed the  brilliant  streets  on  every  side,  they 


54 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


could  see  colossal  palaces.  Like  all  miners, 
they  put  up  at  the  most  expensive  hotel  in 
the  city;  and  soon  a  supper  fit  for  a  king 
was  spread  before  them. 

"That  stage  ride  gives  me  a  good  appe- 
tite," said  Paddie,  "  so  I  guess  I'll  pitch  in." 

"That's  enough  to  cure  any  man  of  the 
dyspepsia,"  said  Morton. 

"We  escaped  by  a  miracle,  because  we 
were  coming  to  hear  Ingersoll,"  said  Pad- 
die. 

"Escaped  by  good  luck,  I  should  say," 
said  Moccasin  Bill. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  call  good  luck  ?  "  said 
Paddie. 

"  It's  coming  out  all  right  when  you  can't 
help  it,"  said  Moccasin.  "At  the  same 
time,  if  Frank  hadn't  held  those  reins  pretty 
tight,  we'd  a  gone  to  the  devil,  sure." 

"Then,  I  guess  there  wasn't  much  luck 
about  it,"  said  Morton. 

"Except  in  turning  the  corner,"  replied 
Moccasin.  "I  think  Frank  himself  might 
admit  that  a  puff  of  wind  would  have  sent 
us  flying  over." 

"It's  all  right,  and  would  have  been  all 
right,  if  we'd  a  gone  to  smash,"  said  Jennie. 
"  Let  us  eat  our  supper." 

"  That's  philosophy,"  said  Paddie.  "  We 
didn't  go  to  smash,  and  now  the  best  thing 
we  can  do  is  to  eat.  That's  what  we  were 
saved  for.  That's  the  final  cause,  as  the- 
ologians say." 

After  supper,  the  party  broke  up  and 
drifted  here  and  there  over  the  gorgeous  and 
wonderful  city. 

Paddie  and  Morton  and  Burnham  stood 
by  the  sea,  and  watched  its  radiant  tides, 
over  which  the  ships  floated  and  flashed,  and 
listened  to  the  deep,  far  music  of  the  bil- 
lows as  they  broke  along  the  winding  shore. 

"  What  a  magician  civilization  is  1 "  said 
Morton.  "How  it  has  transformed  these 
shores,  decked  them  with  a  million  jewels ! 
What  a  power  we  ourselves  have  in  and 
through  this  magical  touch!  We  seem  to 
have  a  hundred  arms." 

"  We  do  have  the  advantage  of  the  sav- 
ages, though  we  sacrifice  our  liberty,"  said 


Paddie.  "But  liberty  is  so  sweet  that  I 
hardly  know  which  to  choose,  the  palace-car 
or  the  canoe." 

"I  think  I'll  take  the  palace-car,"  said 
Will.  "  I  go  for  comfort.  Liberty  is  sweet, 
but  I  don't  care  to  lug  a  canoe  for  the  sake 
of  having  my  own  way." 

"But  civilization  enlarges,  even  while  it 
cramps,"  said  Morton.  "  It  carries  us  over 
land  and  sea,  swift  as  the  bird.  It  breaks  a 
thousand  chains,  where  it  rivets  one." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Paddie.  "  We  are 
so  used  to  our  chains  that  we  don't  feel 
them.  But  it  is  a  luxury  to  leave  society, 
and  traverse  the  universe  afoot  and  alone, 
and  follow  our  own  sweet  will,  up  and  down, 
over  hill  and  dale,  and  pluck  the  roses  and 
the  thorns,  and  rest  at  night  with  the  bound- 
less sky  above.  I'm  not  willing  to  yield  my 
liberty.  I  only  keep  truce  with  civilization. 
I  don't  make  peace  with  it.  I'm  ready  to 
break  at  any  time." 

"  I,"  said  Morton,  "  make  a  defensive  alli- 
ance, but  not  offensive.  Civilization  is  my 
fort,  but  not  my  base  of  supplies." 

"It  is  our  master  and  our  slave,"  said 
Burnham.  "As  a  master  I  aohor  it,  as  a 
slave  I  admire  it.  It  is  as  strong  as  Jove. 
I  will  use  it,  and  I  will  defy  it." 

"  Good  for  you,  Will ! "  said  Paddie.  "  Let 
us  have  a  little  revolt  all  to  ourselves.  It's 
so  nice  to  pitch  ioto  things  on  the  sly  and 
get  the  better  of  'em,  while  we  seem  to  be 
their  most  obedient  servant." 

"  Life  is  full  of  compromises  and  masks," 
said  Morton.  "The  inward  and  the  out- 
ward never  have  anything  more  than  a 
speaking  acquaintance.  We  can't  be  friends 
with  the  world.  We  can  have  only  one  con- 
fidant, ourself :  and  then  we  have,  occasion- 
ally, to  pull  the  wool  over  our  own  eyes." 

"  Honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  said  Paddie, 
"  when  your  honesty  is  like  that  of  the  world ; 
but,  when  it's  a  different  thing,  then  to  be 
honest  don't  pay." 

"  Then  comes  the  question  how  much  we 
can  stand,"  said  Morton.  "  I  must  confess 
that  I'm  willing  to  compromise  for  my  food 
and  clothes.  I  don't  care  for  the  brown- 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


55 


atone  front  or  the  coach  and  six.  But,  when 
it's  utter  honesty  and  utter  starvation,  then 
I  think  my  tongue  ought  to  do  a  little  lying, 
for  the  sake  of  my  stomach." 

«  Be  true,  though  the  heavens  fall,"  said 
Paddie. 

"  That's  easy  enough,"  said  Morton,  "  but 
it  isn't  easy  enough  to  be  hungry  and  naked, 
when  all  the  world  about  you  is  happy ;  and, 
if  you  die,  you  are  forgotten  the  next  minute, 
and  people  wonder  what  you  were  such  a 
fool  for.  It's  easy  enough  to  be  a  martyr  at 
the  stake,  but  it's  mighty  hard  to  be  a  mar- 
tyr in  a  garret  and  live  on  sixpence  a  day. 
When  it  comes  to  that,  I  cave  in.  I 
shut  my  mouth  in  preference  to  being 
snuffed  out.  Society  has  got  the  drop  on 
me;  and,  generally,  I  must  just  back  down." 

"  Sometimes,  I  suppose  you'll  stick,"  said 
Paddie. 

"  Absolute  submission  is  worse  than 
death,"  said  Morton.  **  I'd  rather  die  than 
live  as  the  majority  of  people  live,  like  so 
many  machines.  I  must  kick  some,  I  must 
have  a  little  fresh  air." 

"  That's  the  way  with  all  poor  martyrs. 
They  kicked  in  the  wrong  place.  They  took 
just  one  whiff  too  much  of  fresh  air." 

"  Sometimes,  our  manhood  drives  us  to  an 
out-and-out  fight,  and  then  we  can't  help  it ; 
and  we  must  go  to  the  wall,  it  may  be,  but 
with  our  colors  flying." 

"  We  won't  go  to  the  wall  here,"  said  Pad- 
die.  "  Money  in  our  pockets,  a  city,  one  of 
the  wonders  of  the  world,  at  our  feet,  and 
Ingersoll  to  give  us  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 
I'm  satisfied  with  what  I  have  for  the 
present." 

Slowly,  the  great  hall  filled.  The  wealth 
and  fashion  of  the  city  were  gathering  to 
hear  the  mighty  oration.  The  faces  of  most 
of  them  were  beaming  with  intelligence  and 
keen  interest.  Here  and  there  was  a  sombre 
countenance,  as  if  some  spies  from  the 
Christian  camp  were  in  attendance,  to  find 
out  what  was  really  going  on  and  report  pro- 
ceedings. It  was  a  daring  undertaking, 
however,  to  run  the  risk  of  having  the  rea- 
son aroused;  for  if  one  should,  under  the 


magical  influence  of  the  charming  oration, 
begin  to  think,  how  terrible  the  consequences 
might  be  I 

Our  brave  little  company  was  on  hand, 
securing  the  best  seats  in  the  house,  and  de- 
termined to  have  their  fill  of  all  the  good 
things  said. 

"I  wouldn't  have  believed  this  possible, 
ten  years  ago,"  said  Morton,  as  he  glanced 
over  the  magnificent  audience, — "  that  an  in- 
fidel could  be  as  popular  as  the  theatre,  and 
draw  a  larger  assembly  than  the  most  gifted 
preacher.  I  am  simply  astonished  at  the 
progress  the  world  is  making." 

"  It  has  taken  a  long  time  to  get  a  start, 
but  we  are  going  with  geometric  ratio  now," 
said  Paddie.  "  Infidelity  is  in  the  very  air 
we  breathe.  Everybody  is  catching  it, 
though  they  may  not  break  out.  I  presume 
half  this  audience  are  church  members. 
They  pay  a  dollar  to  hear  Ingersoll,  not 
from  mere  curiosity,  but  because  they  are 
really  hungry  for  what  he  says.  They  want 
something  new." 

"  The  whole  Church  will  finally  succumb 
to  this  deep  want  for  something  new,"  said 
Morton.  "For  human  nature  is  the  same 
everywhere,  and  it  won't  always  be  satisfied 
with  the  old,  unless  it  can  prove  itself  the 
best ;  and  what  is  best  the  spirit  of  the  age 
will  no  longer  permit  tradition  alone  to  de- 
cide. Orthodoxy  is  fast  losing  its  rigors, 
even  to  the  most  elect.  Hell  fire  ceases  to 
bring  a  shudder.  The  devil  is  no  longer  an 
object  of  interest.  It's  all  come  to  be  as 
disagreeable  and  commonplace  as  the  tax- 
bill." 

"  Christianity  has  been  a  fairy  land,"  said 
Burnham.  "But  the  soul  has  gone  out  of 
it,  and  it's  as  dry  as  summer's  dust.  Infidel- 
ity is  the  only  thing  that  gives  the  imagina- 
tion a  chance  to  play.  When  voiced  by 
genius,  the  world  becomes  enchanted." 

Unannounced,  the  speaker  stood  before 
the  vast  audience,  and  was  greeted  with  a 
storm  of  applause.  He  was  of  commanding 
presence. 

"He  reminds  me  of  the  hills  and  big 
plains,"  said  Moccasin  Bill,  who  arose  and 


56 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


waved  his  hat  in  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
ment. "  I  feel  the  breath  of  my  home  about 
me,  as  I  look  upon  his  face." 

How  calmly  the  orator  began,  with  the 
gracefulness  and  ease  of  a  drawing-room 
conversationalist !  He  seemed  to  speak  with- 
out effort,  and  to  talk  as  if  he  had  but  a  sin- 
gle listener.  There  was  an  indescribable 
melody  in  his  voice,  so  strong,  so  clear,  so 
full  of  the  abounding  freshness  of  prairie 
lands.  Like  the  notes  of  a  bird,  it  opened 
the  great,  wide  horizon  of  the  world's  ad- 
vance. How  easily  his  myriad  listeners 
were  caught  up  and  borne  along  the  current 
of  his  talk,  that  swept  so  broad  and  deep, 
and  yet  with  such  fine  equipoise!  There 
was  no  jar :  the  humor  burst  forth  sponta- 
neously, like  the  bubbling  of  a  wave  on  the 
breast  of  the  sea.  It  flashed  from  the  ful- 
ness of  his  being.  His  oration  was  like  a 
thing  of  life.  Every  part  was  fitly  joined 
together  and  moved  with  accordant  thought. 
There  was  no  catastrophe  in  the  evolution 
of  his  magnificent  ideas,  whose  stream 
swelled  to  ampler  tides,  and  bore  his  hearers 
almost  unconsciously  to  new  and  astonish- 
ing views.  Even  the  Orthodox  began  to 
applaud.  The  power  was  irresistible.  It 
was  the  force  of  truth,  but  truth  presented 
with  the  dazzling  splendor  of  a  picture.  It 
was  truth  flowing  from  the  heart  of  a  man 
and  not  from  dogmatism.  It  was  truth  ra- 
diant with  passion,  bursting  into  quick  and 
scintillating  light.  One  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  the  smiling  and  dimpled  orator, 
so  gay,  so  cordial,  with  the  keen  sword  of  a 
Saladin,  light  and  airy  like  a  feather,  was 
hewing  down,  with  the  strength  of  the  ham- 
mer of  Thor,  the  venerable  and  gigantic  su- 
perstitions of  the  past.  He  was  not  the 
ideal  iconoclast,  severe  and  dark-browed,  and 
threatening  like  a  thunder-cloud.  He  was 
like  a  May  day,  full  of  glittering  and  beau- 
tiful fancies,  and  did  not  seem  to  bear 
within  his  bosom  the  weapons  of  such 
enormous  destruction.  Not  until  he  ceased 
did  we  know  how  far  they  had  been  borne. 
It  was  a  dramatic  surprise  to  look  back  and 
see  what  realms  had  been  passed.  Inger- 


soil's  eloquence  was  like  the  modern 
road.  It  bore  one  over  vast  tracks  to  the 
other  side  of  apparently  impassable  moun- 
tains, where  prospects  hitherto  undreamed 
of  burst  upon  the  sight.  At  the  close  of  his 
oration,  everybody  was  with  him.  They  saw 
as  he  saw  and  felt  as  he  felt.  By  the  power 
of  an  infinite  sympathy,  he  compelled  alle- 
giance to  the  hitherto  unrecognized  truth. 

If  one  for  a  moment  left  the  orator  and 
watched  the  audience,  a  most  interesting  pict- 
ure was  revealed.  It  was  seen  like  an  ocean 
tossing  from  "grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to 
severe."  Now,  ripples  of  smiles  swept  over 
it,  then  there  was  a  billowy  break  of  laugh- 
ter, then  there  was  silence  as  some  great 
thought  unrolled,  while  tears  glistened  as 
the  pathetic  music  of  his  voice  touched  the 
fountains  of  affection.  Every  word  was  felt, 
as  if  a  great  play  was  being  enacted  or  some 
mighty  opera  sung. 

"  Well,"  said  Moccasin  Bill,  as  they  went 
out  after  the  marvellous  oration,  "this  is 
simply  wonderful.  I  am  satisfied  as  I  never 
was  before.  If  there  ever  was  such  a  thing 
as  getting  religion,  I've  got  it;  for  I  could 
holler  as  loud  as  the  Methodists  for  very  joy. 
I've  been  on  the  mountain  top." 

"  If  such  a  speech  as  that  doesn't  give  a  man 
faith,  I  don't  know  what  does,"  said  Charlie. 
"  I  never  respected  human  nature  as  I  do 
now,  or  felt  there  was  so  much  worth  living 
for.  They  talk  about  Ingersoll's  destroying. 
How  false !  He  gives  a  thousand  times  more 
than  he  takes  away.  He  gives  a  clear  sight. 
He  pulls  away  the  curtains  hung  by  the 
priests,  painted  and  daubed,  and  shows  the 
genuine  drama  of  human  life.  He  takes 
away  the  skeleton,  and  the  full-blooded  man 
appears.  Even  if  he  didn't  build,  I'd  rather 
live  out-doors  than  in  the  gloomy  caverns 
of  superstition." 

"But  he  does  build,"  said  Burnham. 
"  He  only  dissipates  fancies.  The  infidel  is 
the  only  builder;  for  he  alone  deals  with 
facts,  which  he  does  not  undertake  to  de- 
molish. He  breaks  the  images,  but  the  ma- 
terial he  uses  for  better  purposes." 

"Don't  you  know,"  said  Paddie,   "that 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


57 


people  like  to  dwell  in  fancies.  They  had 
rather  fancy  they  are  going  to  heaven  than 
really  know  that  they  are  going,  and  they  call 
that  man  an  iconoclast  who  puts  knowledge 
in  place  of  fancy.  Knowledge,  you  know, 
is  so  unaccommodating.  You  can't  change 
it  to  suit  your  convenience.  It's  right  there, 
an  everlasting,  immutable  thing.  It  won't 
budge  an  inch  for  you  or  me,  and  you  can't 
get  round  it  either.  But  a  fancy, — how  ac- 
commodating a  fancy  is  1  You  can  make  it 
anything  at  will,  like  Hamlet's  cloud,  a  whale 
or  a  weasel,  or  a  barn  or  a  palace.  No  won- 
der people  like  fancies,  and  crucify  the  man 
who  would  put  a  few  facts  in  their  place." 

"  Ingersoll  has  done  me  good,"  said  Jennie. 
"I  never  want  to  hear  a  preacher  again. 
I've  tried  to  get  some  comfort  out  of  them, 
but  it's  no  go.  They  are  a  poor  set,  fit  only 
to  eat  your  best  chicken.  I'm  glad  to  hear 
somebody  that  believes  in  this  world  and 
makes  things  round  about  us  beautiful." 

4<  That's  my  fix,"  said  Tim.  "  Long  time 
ago,  I  tried  to  be  converted.  I  was  never  so 
bothered  in  my  life.  I  tried  to  feel  bad  and 
couldn't.  I  gave  up  hunting  and  fishing, 
and  went  to  meditating  on  death  and  hell. 
I  even  let  them  baptize  me,  and  caught  cold, 
and  then  I  thought  sure  I'd  have  conviction ; 
and  one  day  I  got  so  mad  a-thinking  it  over 
that  I  swore  like  a  pirate.  After  that,  I  felt 
better,  and  never  sought  religion  since.  Now, 
I  ain't  much  anyway;  but  what  I  am  Inger- 
soll has  got  hold  of,  sure  as  you  live.  If 
ever  I  see  anybody  in  want,  I'll  help  'em. 
I  won't  stand  one  side,  with  my  hands  in  my 
pocket." 

"It  does  make  me  feel  kind  of  good  to 
hear  that  fellow,"  said  Sol.  "  I  expect  to  go 
to  the  devil,  if  there  is  one.  I'm  sort  of  de- 
moralized, I've  been  in  politics  so  long.  I 
don't  feel  as  if  there's  any  use  in  trying  to 
be  good.  If  I  should  join  the  church,  I 
should  only  be  a  hypocrite,  as  half  the  poli- 
ticians are.  However,  I  ain't  all  bad,  and  no 
man  is.  He  has  streaks  of  good,  and  Inger- 
soll  fetches  out  those  streaks  better'n  any 
man  I  know.  Really,  if  I  was  to  vote  now, 
I'd  vote  honest.  I  wouldn't  sell  myself, 


not  even  to  a  railroad.  I  don't  believe  I'd 
accept  a  pass,  even.  I  would  like  to  begin 
life  over  again,  and  work  for  a  living." 

Slowly  the  vast  audience  dispersed.  Char- 
lie, with  his  usual  Yankee  curiosity,  watched 
the  many  elegant  and  noble  figures  and 
faces  of  men  and  women  that  passed,  when 
he  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  vision  of  rare 
beauty.  It  was  that  kind  of  beauty,  inde- 
scribable and  marvellous,  that  thrilled  him 
from  head  to  foot  with  the  sweet,  fierce  sen- 
sations of  love. 

She  was  young,  apparently  not  more  than 
twenty  years  of  age,  of  about  the  medium 
height,  with  gracious  and  majestic  presence. 
She  had  that  queenly  style  whose  movement 
in  every  circumstance  is  one  of  perfect  ease. 
Her  features  were  mobile  and  most  expres- 
sive. Her  eyes  were  large  and  brilliant,  of 
mingled  dark  and  green,  ever  changing  in 
their  splendid  lustre,  and  looking  at  one 
with  frank  tenderness.  Her  hair  was  abun- 
dant and  flowing,  and  dashed  about  her  fore- 
head in  graceful  ringlets,  according  to  the 
latest  fashion.  She  had  on  "  a  love  of  a  bon- 
net," that  just  fitted  her  well-shaped  head, 
and  over  it  flashed  the  wing  of  some  many- 
colored  bird.  She  was  richly  attired.  Rare 
jewels  flamed  about  her  delicate  white  throat 
and  hands.  As  she  passed  Charlie,  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  strange  and 
wondering  recognition.  A  faint  flush 
touched  her  cheek.  Then  she  was  lost  in 
the'  crowd. 

Who  can  tell  whence  come  the  mystic 
arrows  of  love,  why  this  or  that  attracts  and 
enchants  and  subdues  and  thrills?  Others 
might  not  have  noticed  this  beautiful 
woman:  they  would  be  seeking  and  caring 
for  something  different ;  but  vshe  came  upon 
Charlie  with  bewildering  power.  He  could 
have  flung  himself  at  her  feet  and  wor- 
shipped. In  the  midst  of  her  loveliness, 
there  was  something  that  seemed  most 
strangely  familiar.  I  suppose  it  is  always 
so  with  lovers.  They  imagine  they  have 
met  in  the  long  ago.  Where  had  Charlie 
met  this  beautiful  princess?  He  asked 
himself  the  question  in  vain,  and  while  ask- 


58 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


ing  she  disappeared.    He  tried  to  find  her 
again  in  the  crowd,  but  could  not. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  DID  you  see  that  woman  ?  "  said  Charlie. 

"What  woman?"  said  Will.  "I've  seen 
a  good  many  women." 

"  That  one  that  was  so  handsome,"  said 
Charlie. 

"  But  they  are  all  handsome,"  said  WilL 
"  I  can't  see  any  difference." 

"  You  are  as  blind  as  a  bat.  I  mean  the 
handsomest  one  of  all." 

"I  couldn't  pick  her  out,"  said  Will. 
"  They  are  all  one  to  me,  like  the  stars." 

"How  stupid!"  said  Charlie.  "She  was 
perfectly  divine,  and  you  didn't  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  might  have  seen  her,"  said  Will ;  "but 
among  so  many  she  didn't  strike  me  par- 
ticularly." 

"  You  didn't  see  her,"  said  Charlie.  "  If 
you  had,  you  wouldn't  be  so  cool.  You 
wouldn't  have  had  eyes  for  any  one  else. 
I  tell  you  she's  the  handsomest  I  ever  set 
eyes  on.  She's  perfection." 

"  Oh,  you  have  a  lover's  phantasy,  I  see," 
said  Will.  "I  envy  you;  but  it'll  pass  off, 
and  to-morrow  evening  you'll  see  others 
just  as  handsome." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Charlie.  "I'm 
sure  I've  seen  her  somewhere.  She  almost 
bowed  to  me." 

"Another  freak  of  imagination,"  said 
Will.  "  You  are  far  gone.  You  look  dazed 
and  wandering." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  where  she  went  to,"  said 
Charlie.  "  I'm  afraid  I  shall  never  see  her 
again." 

"Yes,  you  will,  if  you  really  love  her. 
Love,  you  know,  is  fate." 

"  1  hope  so,  but  I  hate  to  trust  to  chance. 
I  might  as  well  forget." 

"Yes,  you  might;  for,  unless  you  are 
richer  than  you  are  now,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  a  wife?  She  wouldn't  look  well 
in  a  hovel." 

"  By  Jove !  she'd  be  a  goddess  anywhere ; 
but  what's  the  use  of  vexing  myself?  I'll 


call  it  an  apparition,  and  dream  about  it 
Let's  go  to  the  hotel." 

As  they  came  to  the  hotel,  Sol  Jones  met 
them. 

"Come  up  and  see  Ingersoll,"  said  he. 
"  We'll  have  a  talk  with  him  before  we  go 
to  bed.  He's  a  room  full  now,  and  a  gay 
time  they  are  having.  I  used  to  know  Bob 
a  bit,  down  in  Southern  Indiana.  I  guess 
he'll  give  us  a  grip." 

And  he  did,  sure  enough.  He  remembered 
Sol,  and  he  gave  a  cordial  greeting  to  the 
rest  of  the  company. 

"  What  a  shake  that  was !  "  said  Moccasin 
Bill.  "It  warms  me  all  over.  I  feel  at 
home,  as  if  I'd  known  him  all  my  life.  He 
doesn't  put  on  a  bit  of  style,  does  he  ?  You 
don't  have  to  be  introduced  to  him  at  the 
end  of  a  ten-foot  pole." 

The  room  was  full.  All  sorts  were  there, 
friends  and  acquaintances  whom  he  had  met 
in  many  a  varied  circumstance,  in  his  brill- 
iant career  on  the  forum  and  stump.  He 
was  even  more  remarkable  amid  a  set  of 
genial  companions  than  on  the  platform. 
His  vigorous  mind  was  surcharged  with 
thoughts  which  electrified  as  they  constantly 
and  joyously  overflowed.  Yet,  with  all  this 
ease  and  spontaneity,  he  was  a  profound 
thinker  and  a  thorough  student.  He  was 
ready  to  meet  any  question,  and  grapple 
with  the  deepest  philosophic  problems  of 
the  day,  often  throwing  a  flood  of  light  upon 
them  by  a  single  illustration;  while,  about 
the  intricate  and  puzzling  pathways  of  hu- 
man endeavor,  his  wit  flew  and  coruscated 
like  some  lively  Ariel.  There  was  no  such 
thing  as  being  exhausted,  for  the  dryest 
details  were  glorified  by  the  spell  of  his 
genius. 

"By  the  way,  Sol,"  said  he,  "I  believe 
Aunt  Betty  is  out  here  somewhere.  I  used 
to  meet  her  at  Shawneetown  years  ago.  She 
did  my  washing,  and  she  did  it  well." 

"She's  at  Devil's  Gulch,"  said  Sol. 
"Eighty  years  old,  and  lively  as  a  cricket 
still.  She  belongs  to  the  Methodist  church, 
and  sings  as  loud  as  any  of  'em.  She  can't 
give  up  her  religion." 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


59 


"  I  don't  ask  her  to,"  said  Bob.  "  She  en- 
joys it.  I  don't  think,  however,  she  has 
much  faith  in  hell." 

"  That  she  hasn't,"  said  Sol.  "  I've  heard 
her  say  that,  when  she  got  to  heaven,  she'd 
ask  the  Lord  to  let  her  go  down  to  hell  and 
save  sinners.  She'd  do  it,  I  know.  She 
don't  believe  in  letting  anybody  go  to  the 
bad." 

"There's  where  she  and  I  agree,"  said 
Bob.  "  Here,  Sol,  give  this  to  her  with  my 
best  regards,"  handing  a  fifty-dollar  green- 
back. 

"  That'll  do  her  old  heart  good,"  said  Sol, 
"a  deal  more  than  an  illuminated  Bible. 
She  always  said  that  Bob  was  one  of  the 
best  Christians  she  ever  knew,  though  his 
doctrine  wasn't  exactly  Scriptural.  She 
thought,  however,  you  were  about  as  near 
right  as  Calvin." 

"She  never  could  go  Calvin,"  said  Bob. 
"  I  think,  on  the  whole,  she'd  prefer  me.  In- 
fant damnation  was  too  much  for  her." 

At  this  juncture,  a  note  was  brought  the 
Colonel.  He  opened  and  read  aloud  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

ROBERT  G.  INGERSOLL: 

Dear  Sir, —  I  have  a  sincere  interest  in  the 
welfare  of  your  soul.  I  desire  to  convert  you. 
All  that  is  necessary  is  that  I  should  talk  to  you 
for  a  few  minutes ;  for  the  Word  of  the  Lord  is 
sharper  than  a  two-edged  sword,  and  pierceth  to 
the  dividing  asunder  of  the  soul  and  body.  I 
have  unanswerable  arguments.  I  have  studied 
the  Scripture  for  years,  and  know  it  by  heart; 
and  I  cau  remove  all  objections  to  a  faith  in  its 
divine  teaching.  Will  you  give  me  permission 
to  lead  you  to  the  green  pastures  and  beside  the 
still  waters  ?  Truly  yours, 

Rev.  TIMOTHY  DWIGHT  BOBBINS. 

The  Colonel  immediately  penned  the  fol- 
lowing answer :  — 

Rev.  TIMOTHY  DWIGHT  BOBBINS: 

Dear  Sir, —  I  have  no  objection  to  meeting 
your  unanswerable  arguments.  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  be  converted.  I  want  the  truth.  If 
yon  have  it,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  welcome  it.  I 


will  give  you  full  opportunity  to  show  what  you 
can  do  with  the  sword  of  the  Lord. 

Yours  for  the  green  pastures  and  still  waters, 
R.  G.  INGERSOLL. 

In  a  minute  or  two,  the  Rev.  Timothy 
Dwight  Bobbins  entered.  He  looked  as 
thin  as  if  he  had  prayed  and  fasted  forty 
days  and  nights.  His  coat  and  hat  were  as 
antique  as  Noah's  ark.  His  boots  looked  as 
though  they  had  travelled  Jordan  and  found 
it  indeed  a  hard  road,  lie  had  on  a  dirty 
white  cravat,  and  his  hair  hung  loosely 
about  his  head,  only  about  half-combed.  He 
walked  with  an  uncertain  gait,  and  leaned 
over  almost  double.  He  occasionally  rolled 
his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
with  a  devout  motion.  He  carried  under 
his  arms  what  seemed  to  be  a  set  of  dilapi- 
dated sermons.  No  doubt,  they  had  endured 
severe  service  and  been  used  over  and  over 
again.  Perhaps  these  were  the  "  Sword  of 
the  Lord."  On  the  whole,  the  Rev.  Timothy 
Dwight  Bobbins  did  not  have  a  very  re- 
doubtable appearance.  It  appeared  doubt- 
ful if  he  could  wrestle  very  successfully  with 
the  infidel.  Perhaps,  however,  he  had  some 
pebbles  tucked  about  him  somewhere,  with 
which  eventually  to  crush  the  towering 
Goliah.  At  any  rate  there  was  every  ap- 
pearance of  sincerity  about  him,  and  with- 
out doubt  he  expected  to  pluck  a  brand  from 
the  burning. 

The  heavy  artillery  brought  up  in  the  rear 
of  him ;  namely,  the  almost,  though  not  quite, 
Rev.  William  Theophilus  Pippins.  He  was 
a  student,  and  had  not  yet  been  ordained. 
He  was  the  exact  model  of  a  "  theologue." 
His  hair  was  long,  his  cheeks  thin,  his  eyes 
watery  and  guarded  by  green  spectacles. 
His  suit  was  the  sober  livery  of  black.  He 
wore  a  dingy  dress-coat  buttoned  tightly 
around  his  spare  form.  His  pants  were 
rather  too  short,  and  his  gaiters  rather  too 
big.  I  suppose  they  were  a  present  to  him 
from  some  benevolent  church  society,  the 
cast-off  clothing  of  some  rich  deacon.  He 
wore  a  silk  hat  that  had  probably  seen  about 
ten  summers  and  eleven  winters.  It  was 


60 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


somewhat  weather-beaten  and  a  little  out  of 
style.  His  arms  were  loaded  with  books, 
all  learned  commentaries  on  the  Bible,  ex- 
planations of  difficult  passages,  and  harmo- 
nies of  the  Gospels.  He  had  a  Bible  in  the 
Hebrew  and  a  Testament  in  the  Greek.  All 
these  were  carefully  laid  upon  the  table,  and 
the  student  went  back  and  brought  another 
pile.  He  then  stood  ready  to  open  and  read 
any  passage  that  might  be  indicated  by  his 
solemn  leader. 

"  I  am  a  humble  candle  of  the  Lord.  I 
hope  to  be  able  to  give  you  some  light,"  said 
Bobbins. 

"  Proceed,"  said  Robert.  "  I,  too,  am  an 
anxious  seeker  after  light." 

"  I  want  to  go  back  to  the  creation  of  the 
world,"  said  Bobbins.  "  We  must  begin 
with  the  foundation." 

"That's  right,"  said  Ingersoll.  "I'm 
quite  curious  about  that.  I  want  to  know, 
for  instance,  how  it  happened  that  there 
were  days  and  nights  before  the  sun  itself 
was  made." 

"  Oh,  I  can  easily  explain  that  1 "  said  Bob- 
bins. "  You  know  this  was  a  kind  of  picture 
or  panorama  that  passed  before  Moses." 

"I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Ingersoll. 
"  The  Bible  don't  say  so." 

"  I  know  that,  but  the  commentaries  do. 
They  are  got  up  by  the  best  scholars  of  the 
Church,  and  they  show  just  what  the  Bible 
means.  We  couldn't  understand  it,  of 
course,  without." 

"  Are  the  commentaries  inspired  ?  "  asked 
Bob. 

"  Oh,  no,  they  are  not  inspired ;  but  they 
explain  things  very  naturally.  The  Bible 
doesn't  seem  near  so  wonderful  after  you've 
read  them.  It's  much  easier  to  believe 
it." 

"  The  Bible,  you  say,  is  inspired  by  Al- 
mighty God?"  asked  Bob. 

"  Oh,  yes,  every  word  of  it  is  inspired." 

"  And  yet  the  book  that  God  wrote,  who 
is  all-wise  and  all-powerful,  can't  be  under- 
stood until  we  have  read  a  set  of  commen- 
taries by  men  as  fallible  as  ourselves.  Now, 
if  God  can't  reveal  himself,  who  has  every 


instrumentality  at  command,  I   don't  give 
much  for  man's  help." 

"Oh,  that  is  his  way  of  working.  He 
means  that  we  shall  seek  after  the  truth." 

"  And,  if  we  don't  find  it  by  reading  the 
commentaries  of  ignorant  men,  we  must 
go  to  hell.  I  think  that's  a  queer  kind  of  a 
God." 

"But  the  really  essential    parts  of    the 
Bible  can  be    understood,"  said    Bobbins. 
"It's  only  the  scientific  and  historic  pai 
that  need  explaining.     For  instance,   lo> 
thy  neighbor  as  thyself.     Isn't  that  plaii 
enough?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Bob.  "That's  true. 
We  know  it  by  our  reason.  It  don't  need 
inspiration  any  more  than  mathematics. 
Why  don't  you  say  that  geometry  is  in- 
spired?" 

"  Well,"  said  Bobbins,  "  I  don't  know  as 
can  explain  that.     Things  that  we  can  com- 
prehend we  don't  need  inspiration  for.     W« 
need  inspiration  for  what  we  can't  compi 
hend." 

"  Well,  let  us  stick  a  pin  there,"  said  Bob. 
"  We  don't  need  inspiration  for  what  we  can 
comprehend  by  our  natural  reason,  but  for 
things  that  we  can't  comprehend.  Now, 
for  things  that  we  can't  comprehend, 
is  inspiration  going  to  help  us  ?  " 

"  Why,  by  showing  to  our  reason  " — 

"Hold  on,  man,"  said  Bob.     "You 
already  said  that  what  is  plain  to  reasoi 
doesn't  need  inspiration.     If  what  is  calk 
inspiration  appeals  to  our  reason,  and  coi 
vinces  it,  then  by  that  very  fact  it  is  not  in- 
spiration, it  is  simply  nature." 

Bobbins  was  bothered,  no  mistake.     H< 
requested  Theophilus  to  hand  him  a 
book.    He  pored  over  it  for  a  while,  wi] 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  and  tl 
proceeded. 

"I  have  it  now.  Inspiration  proves  1 
self  by  a  miracle." 

"A  miracle  1"   said  Bob.      "What  is 
miracle?" 

"Something  that  is  above  and  beyor 
nature,  like  the  sun  and  moon  standii 
still." 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


61 


"Do  you  believe  the  sun  and  moon  did 
standstill?" 

"  Oh,  no,  they  only  seemed  to.  The  light 
was  somehow  refracted,  and  sent  back.  It 
was  a  kind  of  an  after-reflection." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  an  after-reflection. 
I  never  heard  of  it  until  now.  Is  that  in 
your  commentaries  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  I  believe  it's  considered  satis- 
factory." 

"  How  easily  you  are  satisfied !  But  that 
explanation  destroys  the  inspiration:  you 
make  it  natural,  though  extraordinary. 
Therefore,  it  doesn't  prove  inspiration. 
Now,  you  remember,  don't  you,  where  it 
says  that  Jonah  swallowed  the  whale?" 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  say  that,"  said  Bobbins. 
"  It  was  the  whale  that  swallowed  Jonah." 

"Aren't  you  mistaken?"  said  Bob.  "I 
guess  you'll  find  it  says  that  Jonah  swal- 
lowed the  whale,  and  it  stayed  three  days 
in  his  belly,  and  then  Jonah  threw  it  up 
again." 

"  Oh,  that's  absurd.  Why,  if  the  Bible  said 
so,"  cried  Bobbins,  "  I  wouldn't  believe  it." 

"Wouldn't  believe  it?"  said  Bob.  "Why?" 

"  Because  it's  impossible." 

"Oh,  you  don't  believe  the  impossible," 
said  Bob,  with  a  sly  twinkle.  "Well,  I 
think  if  you'll  examine  every  miracle  in  the 
Bible,  you'll  find  it  impossible,  or,  if  not  im- 
possible, then  explainable  by  natural  means, 
and  so  not  a  miracle.  Now,  if  you  refuse 
to  believe  the  impossible,  then  you  must  re- 
fuse to  believe  a  miracle.  So  your  inspira- 
tion is  gone  again." 

Bobbins  had  sense  enough  to  see  that 
he  was  caught,  and  he  rapidly  turned  the 
leaves  of  his  commentary.  At  length,  he 
said, — 

"You  will  acknowledge,  Mr.  Ingersoll, 
that  you  don't  know  everything?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Bob.  "  I  am  willing  to 
say  I  don't  know.  The  trouble  with  you 
theologians  is  that  you  are  not  willing  to 
say  so.  You  think  you  know  God  as  well 
as  you  know  your  next  door  neighbor." 

"We  know  him  as  he  has  revealed  him- 
self." 


"  Revealed  himself  ?  How  has  he  revealed 
himself  in  that  Book  called  the  Bible  ?  Is 
he  not  a  liar,  a  murderer  ?  Did  he  not  de- 
fend slavery  ?  Didn't  he  command  maidens 
to  be  ravished?  Wasn't  David  the  deceiver, 
robber,  and  adulterer,  a  man  after  God's 
own  heart?  I  say  that  your  Bible's  God  is 
a  devil ;  and,  if  I  thought  he  reigned  in  the 
sky,  I'd  still  defy  him.  If  I  believe  in  any 
God  at  all,  I'll  believe  in  a  God  of  love,  who 
works  toward  harmony  and  happiness,  even 
as  he  makes  sunshine  and  beauty.  I  won't 
believe  in  a  cruel  and  an  inhuman  God." 

"  But  isn't  nature  cruel  and  inhuman  ?  " 

"  It  is  ;  and,  so  far  as  it  is  so,  we  seek  to 
make  it  better." 

"Do  you  think,  Mr.  Ingersoll,  that  you 
could,  on  the  whole,  make  this  world  better 
than  it  is?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  had  the  chance." 

"  Pray,  tell  me,  how  would  you  better  it  ?  " 

"I'd  make  health  catching  instead  of 
disease." 

This  unexpected  reply  completely  demol- 
ished Bobbins.  He  closed  his  books,  de- 
murely saying, — 

"  Mr.  Ingersoll,  when  I  get  home,  I  shall 
pray  for  you." 

"All  right,"  said  Robert.  "If  the  Al- 
mighty can  stand  it,  I  can." 

The  two  missionaries  took  a  solemn  de- 
parture. The  theological  student  looked 
more  drooping  and  melancholy  than  ever. 
The  books  seemed  to  weigh  a  great  deal 
more  when  he  went  out  than  when  he  came 
in.  The  artillery  had  not  been  effectual. 
The  guns  had  been  spiked  before  any  shot 
were  fired.  As  Bobbins  reached  the  door, 
he  turned  round  and  bade  good-by  with  a 
most  sepulchral  groan,  as  if  he  had  no  hope 
in  this  world  or  in  any  other. 

"  I  do  pity  them,"  said  Bob.  "  They'd  be 
decent  fellows,  if  they  were  rid  of  theology. 
How  it  hangs  about  them  like  a  curse,  and 
keeps  them  lank  and  lean  !  Bobbins  has  the 
dyspepsia  from  reading  so  many  commen- 
taries." 

"  I'd  like  to  take  that  young  Pippins  up 
into  the  mountains,  and  set  him  to  hunting 


62 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


and  fishing,"  said  Moccasin  Bill.  "  I'd  fat 
him  up  a  bit.  He  looks  like  a  scarecrow 
now.  If  that's  what  they  call  being  spirit- 
ual, I'd  rather  not  try  it.  I  might  as  well  be 
in  the  grave,  and  done  with  it." 

tk  How  hard  these  people  labor  to  be 
miserable  1"  said  Ingersoll.  "They  really 
seem  to  enjoy  poor  health.  We  have 
enough  suffering  without  making  it  a  duty 
to  double  it  up,  and  crucify  pleasure  unto 
death." 

44  Do  you  really  think  this  world  is  enough, 
Colonel  ?  "  said  Sol.  "  Don't  you  have  some 
longings  for  a  life  hereafter?" 

44 1  am  satisfied,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"Every  moment  is  jewelled  with  hope  or 
present  joy.  The  summer  and  the  winter 
bring  benefits,  each  after  their  kind.  Nat- 
ure is  generous.  Her  shadows  even  are 
beautiful.  I  enjoy  this  world,  and  all  that 
is  in  it.  I  drink  of  it  as  of  delicious  wine. 
It  sparkles  and  it  vivifies.  If  pain  comes, 
we  can  make  ourselves  stronger  by  the  expe- 
rience." 

44 Can  you  explain  death?  Isn't  it  an 
enormous  tragedy  right  athwart  the  bright- 
ness of  life?" 

"  I  can't  explain,  neither  can  any  robed 
priest  of  the  most  authentic  creed.  Maybe 
it  is  better  to  die,  that  thus  love  is  made 
immortal.  It  may  be  that  death  destroys 
the  weeds  of  selfishness  and  pride  between 
human  hearts.  It  may  be  that  the  tender- 
ness of  living  comes  from  the  harshness  of 
dying.  Love  gilds  death;  and  out  of  the 
grave  spring  wondrous  blooms  of  heroism 
and  devotion  to  the  living." 

44  Have  you  no  hope  of  immortality  ?  " 

44  So  long  as  affection  lives,  so  long  will 
that  hope  endure.  But  nature  made  it  a 
hope,  and  all  the  truth  we  know  has  not 
changed  it.  As  a  hope,  it  is  beautiful,  and 
in  it  the  tendrils  of  our  affection  grow 
sweeter  and  more  enduring.  But  the  dogma 
of  immortality  has  been  a  curse.  It  has 
flung  a  great  horror  over  this  human 
earthly  existence.  It  has  been  the  tool  of 
tyrants.  All  we  know  is  this  life.  Here,  we 
can  sow  and  reap ;  and  whose  fault  but  ours 


if  we  do  not  make  life  as  a  summer's  garden, 
wherein  we  may  pluck  the  flowers  and 
wreathe  our  own  coronal?  What  can  we  do, 
except  be  helpful  and  loving?  In  this,  we 
are  the  greatest.  Let  us  trust  nature.  We 
need  not  live  for  nothing.  If  we  pass  like 
the  dewdrop,  like  the  dewdrop  we  can  flash 
the  golden  light." 

With  these  great  thoughts  ringing  within 
them,  the  company  separated. 

''That's  what  suits  a  fellow,"  said  Big 
Dick.  "  He  hits  the  nail  on  the  head.  He's 
got  the  grip  of  things,  and  strikes  fire  every 
time.  These  hollerin*  ministers  do  make  me 
so  mad,  a-talkin'  about  harps  and  such 
things.  What  do  I  want  of  a  harp  ?  I  like 
this  world:  one  world  at  a  time, —  that's 
the  tune  for  me.  It's  plain  sailing  here,  and 
I  know  what's  about  right.  But  you  try  to 
f oiler  these  church  folks,  and  it's  like  that 
damned  Snake  River  down  in  Texas.  It's 
so  crooked  that  you  don't  know  half  the 
time  which  side  you  are  on.  This  mixing 
up  two  worlds  at  a  time  is  like  mixing 
drinks.  It  makes  the  head  swim.  I  prefer 
to  take  this  world  straight.  It's  all  I  can 
handle.  I'm  pretty  rough,  but  I  don't  mean 
to  abuse  folks.  If  I  can  lend  a  hand,  I 
will." 

"  Bob  speaks  to  the  universal  human 
heart,"  said  Paddie.  "  The  highest  and  the 
lowest  find  in  him  their  common  manhood. 
Like  the  wind  from  off  the  sea,  he  voices 
the  measureless  tossings  of  our  life.  Like 
an  impassioned  harp,  he  thrills  with  all  that 
human  hope  can  give  or  human  love  in- 
spire." 

CHAPTER  XV. 

44  I'VE  been  looking  all  day,  and  I  can't 
find  her,"  said  Charlie,  the  next  evening. 
"  I  suppose  I'm  foolish,  but  I  can't  help  it.' 

"  Do  you  mean  to  stay  here  until  you  fim 
her?  "said  Will. 

44 1  suppose  it's  useless.  It's  only  a  fancy, 
but  it  haunts  me  with  strange  power.  I 
shall  try  and  forget  it." 

"  That's  a  wise  fellow.  We  must  give  up 
many  a  dream.  Hard  work  is  our  fa 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


68 


We  must  dig  for  gold,  and  then  perhaps  we 
can  build  a  mansion  in  the  skies." 

"  I  suppose,  as  somebody  says,  that  we 
find  our  heaven  at  the  end  of  duty  done.  If 
we  pursue  our  fancy,  we  land  nowhere. 
Here  comes  Big  Dick.  He  does  look  bunged 
up.  I  guess  he's  got  the  worst  of  it  this 
time.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  fight  he's 
tumbled  into  now." 

Big  Dick  did  look  rather  dilapidated.  He 
had  a  black  eye,  and  bruises  all  over.  It  is 
seldom  that  he  presented  so  crushed  and 
bandaged  an  appearance.  He  must  have 
met  an  enemy  worthy  of  his  steel.  How- 
ever, he  bore  it  good-naturedly,  and  came 
up  "  smiling." 

"  Well,  Dick,  I  should  say  you  are  a  used- 
up  man.  I  thought  you  were  never  beaten." 

"We  can't  manage  every  thing,"  said  Dick. 
"  We  all  have  to  go  under  sometimes." 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  jump  into  a  scrape 
so  soon  after  hearing  Ingersoll,"  said  Will. 
"  I  was  in  hopes  he  gave  you  a  good  setting- 
up,  and  that,  for  a  day  or  two,  you  might  go 
along  kind  of  easy." 

"  Thunder  1  It  was  Ingersoll  that  put  me 
up  to  it.  I  couldn't  help  doing  it  after  what 
he  said." 

"  Couldn't  help  doing  it ! "  cried  Will  and 
Charlie  in  the  same  breath.  "  Did  Ingersoll 
make  you  drunk  ?  " 

"No;  but  I  couldn't  see  'em  suffering, 
and  so  I  pitched  in." 

"  What  in  the  devil  have  you  been  doing, 
any  way  ?  "  said  Charlie. 

"  Why,  I  pulled  a  couple  of  children  out 
of  the  fire,  that's  all ;  and  the  damned  tim- 
bers knocked  me  endways.  They  had  the 
advantage,  you  see ;  for  my  hands  were  full, 
and  I  couldn't  strike  back." 

"What!  are  you  that  brave  fellow  that 
plunged  into  a  burning  building  last  night 
at  the  risk  of  his  life,  and  whose  praises  are 
in  the  papers?  Give  us  your  hand!  You 
are  a  bully  boy !  I  thought  it  funny  that 
anybody  should  have  licked  you." 

"  I  never  am  licked,"  said  Dick ;  "  but  I 
was  glad  enough  to  run  from  the  fire.  I'm 
going  into  the  department.  I've  had  an 


offer,  and  I  think  I  shall  like  it.  I  want  to 
try  city  life,  and  by  practice  I  believe  I  can 
beat  the  fire.  You  see,  last  night,  I  didn't 
know  exactly  how  to  do  it.  It's  a  trade." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  lose  you.  You'll  be  missed 
at  Golden  Throne.  However,  I  don't  know 
of  anybody  who  could  tackle  the  fire  with 
any  better  success  than  you.  You've  made 
a  good  beginning." 

"  So  they  say.  It's  fun.  I  never  felt  so 
good  in  my  life  as  I  did  just  dashing  into 
those  flames,  taking  those  two  children,  and 
tumbling  out.  I  didn't  know  I  was  hurt 
till  this  morning." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your 
little  venture  at  the  mines  ?  " 

"  Make  the  best  of  it.  My  claim  is  worth 
something,  and  I'll  hang  on.  I've  just  a 
thousand  tucked  away  in  my  little  hole.  I 
want  you  to  send  it  to  me.  It's  in  the  cor- 
ner, under  the  big  stone.  I  think  I'll  specu- 
late while  I'm  loafin'  round.  They  say 
there's  lots  of  chances." 

"Plenty  of  'em,  no  doubt,"  said  Charlie, 
"as  blackberries;  but,  instead  of  plucking, 
you'll  get  plucked.  You  might  as  well  fling 
your  money  into  the  sea." 

"I'll  try  it,"  said  Dick.  "I  may  be  ft 
millionnaire." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Charlie.  "I  suppose, 
next  to  making  money,  the  best  fun  is  to 
lose  it." 

«  What's  it  good  for,  if  it  don't  keep  a-fly- 
irig?  It's  no  better  than  old  rags  to  stow 
away ;  while,  on  the  go,  it  helps  somebody. 
Lose  to-day,  we  win  to-morrow." 

"All  hail,  my  hero,"  said  Paddie,  striding 
up  and  giving  Dick  a  hearty  grip.  "You 
are  famous  now.  Fortunate  man  to  be  in 
everybody's  mouth,  without  being  a  fool  or 
a  knave ;  but  simply  a  man,  that  and  noth- 
ing more,  which  consigns  so  many  to  obscur- 
ity and  poverty.  I've  labored  for  fame,  and 
could  never  get  it,  and  here  at  one  stroke 
you  have  beat  me.  However,  as  you  have 
taken  to  the  fire,  I'm  going  to  take  to  the 
quill ;  and,  by  being  a  goose,  I  hope  to  win 
fortune.  I  am  a  member  of  the  press.  To- 
morrow, I  begin  to  take  notes  and  manuf  act- 


64 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


ure  public  opinion  by  shrewdly  following 
it.  It's  a  splendid  trade  to  learn,  if  I  can 
only  get  the  hang  of  it." 

"  Shall  we  lose  you  too  ?  Golden  Throne 
will  have  to  shut  up  ^hop,  draw  the  curtains, 
and  put  out  the  lights.  It  has  no  orchestra 
now,  nobody  to  fiddle." 

"And,  therefore,  nobody  to  dance,"  said 
Paddie.  "I'll  bestow  all  my  ability  on 
Gooch.  I'll  give  him  my  fiddle  and  pumps. 
He'd  make  a  good  clown,  if  he  was  only  rid 
of  his  religion." 

"  But  he  isn't  rid  of  it,  and  so  he  plays  the 
rascal.  He  smells  too  much  of  brimstone. 
How  did  it  happen  that  you  stay  here  ?  In- 
deed, you  look  gay,  a  brand  new  suit  of 
clothes  and  a  stove-pipe  hat." 

"  Well,  I'm  respectable  now,  and  can  sin 
to  my  heart's  content  and  not  be  wicked.  I 
met  an  old  chum  here.  We  were  at  school 
together  at  Dublin.  He  is  one  of  the  most 
successful  editors  in  the  city,  and  has  a  fat 
income.  He  has  just  the  place  for  me, —  a 
position  whose  duties  are  to  furnish  facts 
alias  imagination;  and  I  can  do  that  to  a 
charm.  I  shall  enjoy  it,  watching  the  sol- 
emn public  devouring  my  fancies  as  solid 
realities.  People  do  so  like  to  be  gulled,  and 
there's  millions  in  it." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Charlie,  "  and 
I  congratulate  the  public.  I  am  sure  you 
won't  hurt  them;  for  your  nimble  fancies 
shoot  no  arrows  of  poison,  and  a  straight 
fancy  is  better  than  a  twisted  fact.  Feed 
people  on  fancies  until  they  know  how  to 
take  facts.  I  guess  that's  the  wisest  course." 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  Paddie.  "  The  way 
to  rule  the  world  is  to  gull  it.  I  can't  revo- 
lutionize; but  I'm  going  to  make  people 
happy,  even  if  I  have  to  stuff  a  lie  down 
their  throats,  unless  it  happens  to  be  a  theo- 
logical lie,  and  that  I  can't  stand.  But  I 
believe  the  best  way  to  fight  theology,  and 
all  such  gloomy  humbugs,  is  by  telling  peo- 
ple nice  stories  that  are  untrue  and  yet  true. 
Such  is  the  function  of  the  poet,  and  the 
poet  on  the  daily  press  is  the  coming  power." 

"I'll  bet  on  your  success,"  said  Charlie. 
"  Make  folks  laugh,  and  you'll  win.  Wit  is 


truth  in  disguise,  wherein  it  makes  its 
sharpest  thrust.  Hullo,  Sol,  you've  got  some 
new  boots  on.  Are  you  going  to  give  us  the 
shake?" 

"Sorry  to  say  it,  but  I  am,"  said  Sol. 
"  I've  another  chance,  and  my  friends  want 
to  run  me.  There's  a  split  in  El  Dorado 
County ;  and  things  are  pretty  well  mixed  up, 
and  I  may  slip  in.  I  shall  run  on  the  Inde 
pendent  Civil  Service  Reform  platform." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  Independen 
Civil  Service  Reform  platform  ?  " 

"Well,  by  Civil  Service  Reform,  I  mean 
gettin'  the  offices  and  hangin'  on,  making 
'em  a  life  tenure,  through  thick  and  thin 
no  matter  whose  out  or  whose  in.  The  ol( 
cry,  To  the  victor  belong  the  spoils,  is  wrong 
The  new  cry  is,  Get  your  mouth  to  the  pub- 
lic crib,  and  keep  it  there.  You  must  only 
drop  off  with  old  age.  And  Independent 
well,  I  don't  just  exactly  know  what  tha 
does  mean.  It  means  anything  and  every 
thing,  just  what  folks  want  you  to  be.  It's 
a  nice  word  that  can  cover  a  multitude  o 
things.  Call  yourself  independent,  and  peo- 
ple will  think  you  have  every  virtue.  It's  a 
very  accommodating  word.  You  can  stam 
on  any  platform  and  make  all  sorts  of  prom 
ises ;  and,  if  you  don't  fulfil  them,  why,  it's 
because  you  are  independent.  You  see  '. 
have  a  broad  platform  to  run  on ;  and  there 
are  lots  of  discontented  folks  ready  to  take 
up  with  anything,  and  that  makes  a  chance 
for  me.  I've  a  railroad  pass,  and  I  shall  run 
down  and  fix  things." 

"  A  railroad  pass,  and  you  an  Independent  ? 
I  don't  understand  that." 

"This  is  the  idea:  I  am  anti-monopoly 
and  I  shall  pledge  myself  to  resist  the  in- 
roads of  these  grasping  corporations.  But 
when  it  comes  to  riding  and  voting,  why 
that's  a  different  thing.  I  don't  want  to 
walk,  and  I  can't  pay  my  fare.  And  then 
you  know,  what's  a  vote?  I  can  offset  ii 
any  time  by  a  speech.  There's  nothing  like 
dividing  yourself  up  and  going  all  rounc 
and  belonging  to  every  side  of  a  question 
That's  statesmanship,  and  I'm  going  in  on  it.' 

"  Well,  go  it.    Some  people  are  fools,  anc 


GOLDEN   THKONE. 


65 


I  guess  you  might  as  well  shear  'em  as  any- 
body. For  me,  I'd  rather  dig  for  a  bare  pit- 
tance than  succeed  through  the  whims  and 
caprices  of  the  ignorant  multitude." 

"  I  wish  I  could  dig,"  said  Sol,  "  but  I 
can't,  and  I'm  ashamed  to  beg ;  and  so,  like 
the  unj  ust  steward,  I  must  make  friends  of 
the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  and  go  in 
on  my  cheek.  I  was  born  to  it  and  bred  to 
it,  and  I  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

"We  are  on  the  whirligig  of  life,"  said 
Paddle,  "  and  we  must  whirl." 

"  We'll  whirl  off  to  the  mountains  to-mor- 
row," said  Charlie.  "Jumble  as  we  may,  I 
believe  in  the  survival  of  the  fittest." 

The  next  morning,  they  started  on  their 
homeward  journey,  Charlie  and  Will  and 
Tim  and  Jennie  and  Moccasin  Bill.  Char- 
lie was  not  feeling  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
He  left  his  heart  behind  him,  and  so  he 
dragged  a  lengthening  chain.  However,  his 
strong  will  bore  him  along.  He  was  not 
foolish  enough  to  let  his  passion  predomi- 
nate over  his  reason. 

"  Let  me  get  to  work,  and  I  shall  be  all 
right,"  said  he  to  Will.  "I  do  not  forget 
Madeline,  yet  other  loves  will  bloom  and 
blossom  in  the  heart." 

"They  should,"  said  Will.  "The  dead 
reign  in  memory,  while  we  must  mingle 
with  the  living  and  feed  our  hearts  from 
new  fountains.  We  do  not  forget  the  old 
when  we  press  forward  to  the  new." 

"I  do  not  know  as  I  can  love  again," 
said  Charlie.  "  Love  is  such  a  deep  and  ter- 
rible thing  that  I  almost  dread  it;  for  it 
takes  hold  of  every  fibre  of  the  being,  and 
its  joy  is  constantly  trembling  on  the  verge 
of  pain.  I  cannot  forget  this  woman's  face ; 
and  it  does  seem,  at  times,  as  if  I  must  give 
up  every  other  plan  in  life,  and  go  and  seek 
her,  though  I  never  find  her.  Isn't  it  strange 
that  one  glance  can  so  affect  a  man  ?  What 
is  the  reason  of  it?  Why  is  it  that  some 
faces  do  so  enchant  and  haunt  us  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  we  can  never  explain  the  rose 
on  a  woman's  cheek  or  the  flash  of  her  dark 
eye.  But  the  comfort  of  it  is,  out  of  sight, 
out  of  mind ;  and  we  soon  forget  these  fan- 


cies, or,  if  we  do  not,  it  is  because  we  are 
doomed  to  meet  again." 

"  That's  romantic,  and  very  good,  as  sen- 
timent; but  how  far  will  it  go  for  a  fact? 
I  don't  forget  some  nice  apples  that  I  saw 
yesterday ;  but  I  don't  expect  to  eat  them." 

"Folks  are  different  from  apples,"  said 
Will.  "  I  know  I'm  romantic,  but  not  enough 
to  hurt.  I  trust  only  in  what  I  see,  when  it 
comes  to  the  real  tussle.  For  all  that,  we 
can  roam  in  fairy-land,  when  there's  nothing 
else  to  do.  We  are  all  contradictions,  and  that 
is  what  gives  zest  to  life.  I  wonder  at  my- 
self sometimes.  If  I  did  not,  what  a  dunce 
I  should  be  I " 

Moccasin  Bill  gave  them  a  hearty  good-by, 
as,  in  the  bright,  early  dawn,  they  prepared 
to  leave  his  hospitable  dug-out  where  they 
had  spent  the  previous  night. 

"  I've  had  a  good  tramp,"  said  he,  "  and 
I'm  full.  I  know  myself  now,  because  I've 
heard  another  man  tell  me  what  I  knew  al- 
ready, but  didn't  know  that  I  knew  it  as  I 
do  now.  It  is  the  best  of  truth  to  have  one 
speak  your  innermost  thought.  Somehow, 
it  becomes  more  real  then.  I've  always  been 
kind  of  solitary  among  these  hills.  They 
have  been  my  best  companions.  I've  got 
suited  to  them  and  they  to  me.  We've 
never  had  any  trouble.  Men  more  or  less 
bother,  at  least  they  do  me ;  and  I  keep  them 
a  little  off.  That's  my  way.  I  like  it  bet- 
ter, and  it's  liberty.  If  I  mingle  with  men, 
I  have  to  give  up  too  much.  Yet,  through 
Ingersoll,  I  feel  that  man  is  more  than  any- 
thing ;  for  he  has  given  me  a  feeling  and  a 
joy  that  I  never  had  before,  more  respect 
for  myself  and  for  everybody.  He  has 
touched  my  solitude  with  what  you  call 
genius,  or  inspiration.  He  has  spoken  to 
me  with  the  voice  of  the  mountain  and  the 
thunder  of  the  cataract.  He  has  given  a 
new  meaning  to  the  night  and  the  stars 
that  look  down  upon  me.  I  see  more  and  I 
am  more,  because  Bob,  as  you  call  him,  and 
as  I  like  to  call  him,  has  introduced  me  to 
myself;  and  I  understand  Moccasin  Bill 
better  than  I  ever  did,  and  he  me.  I  know 
you  better,  too,  and  all  the  race  of  men.  I 


66 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


can't  be  civilized.  I  hate  to  be.  I  like 
these  wild  woods.  They  are  my  home. 
Here  will  I  live,  and  here  will  I  die,  free  to 
my  last  breath  as  the  winds  of  heaven.  I 
am  afraid  of  nothing, —  of  beasts  or  Indians 
or  storm  or  lightning.  I  have  all  I  want. 
This  is  my  palace,  in  the  bosom  of  earth. 
I  have  no  pains  or  aches.  I  have  never  in- 
jured a  mortal  man.  I  have  done  what  I 
could  to  help  them ;  and  now  I  have  heard 
Ingersoll,  and  his  thoughts  are  with  me, 
companions  of  the  mountains  and  the  trees 
and  the  rivers.  Good-by." 

Charlie  and  Will  never  forgot  the  picture 
of  the  noble  hermit  as  he  stood  leaning  on 
his  long  rifle,  so  sturdy  in  his  independence, 
so  indomitable  in  his  unique  personality,  a 
living  expression  of  the  wildness  and  gran- 
deur of  the  mountains. 

That  evening,  the  company,  dwindled  to 
four,  arrived  at  Pilgrim's  Rest. 

Jennie  was  quite  a  study  to  Charlie,  and 
he  watched  her  as  she  deftly  built  the  fire 
and  prepared  the  meal.  She  was  indeed  a 
wonderful  woman,  a  born  Stoic ;  and  all  the 
ills  of  life  did  not  seem  to  disturb  her  equa- 
nimity. Whatever  happened,  she  was  ready 
for  it, —  the  measles,  the  small-pox,  the  storm, 
the  flood,  the  "  Injun,"  or  the  devil  himself. 
Her  experience  was  varied.  From  girlhood, 
she  had  lived  on  the  plains  or  among  the 
mines.  She  had  "  teamed  it "  and  "  tramped 
it,"  rode  wild  horses  and  shot  buffaloes,  and 
even  scalped  an  Indian.  No  man  had  en- 
dured more  than  she,  or  could  boast  of 
greater  prowess.  She  had  Dome  several 
children,  and  been  stripped  of  them  all; 
but  I  doubt  if  she  ever  wept.  She  was  a 
mother  to  everybody.  No  one  could  ask  her 
for  help  in  vain.  Yet  she  was  not  demon- 
strative. She  was  a  woman  of  few  words. 
She  tended  the  sick  with  grave  quiet,  stood 
by  them  to  the  death,  if  need  be,  no  matter 
how  malignant  the  disease.  She  had  stood 
by  the  bedside  of  hundreds  of  suffering 
miners  and  teamsters,  and  many  of  them 
had  she  pulled  through  an  almost  hopeless 
case.  Yet  she  had  no  religion.  She  never 
prayed  or  sang.  The  only  men  that  she 


really  hated  were  the  ministers;  but  she 
always  fed  them  well  and  gave  them  her 
best  whiskey,  and  they  always  drank  it  "for 
their  stomach's  sake."  She  didn't  have  any 
Bible  or  any  cross.  She  would  swear  like  a 
trooper  sometimes,  and  cuff  the  ears  of  the 
recalcitrant.  She  wouldn't  stand  any  non- 
sense. She  was  a  sublime  heroine,  worthy 
to  stand  by  the  side  of  any  of  the  great 
ones  of  history  or  romance. 

Tim  Baker,  in  his  way,  was  a  curious 
specimen  of  a  roving  American.  He  had 
been  all  over  the  country.  He  would  leave 
his  wife  sometimes  for  months,  and  nobody 
would  know  where  he  was.  He  had  lived 
among  the  Indians,  and,  in  fact,  had  been 
adopted  by  one  of  the  tribes.  He  had  met 
with  all  sorts  of  adventures,  and  could  tell 
of  many  a  hair-breadth  escape.  He  was  a 
right  good  story-teller,  and  around  many  a 
camp-fire  had  exploited  the  thrilling  ro- 
mance of  his  life.  When  on  the  borders 
of  civilization,  he  kept  a  saloon  that  was 
his  only  way  of  making  a  living.  He  wa» 
a  keen  judge  of  liquor  of  all  sorts.  He 
could  tell  the  flavor  to  a  nicety.  He  believed 
in  the  genuine  stuff,  and  would  have  no  adul- 
terations. So  he  always  kept  the  most  pop- 
ular saloon,  and  made  money  which  he  spent 
like  water.  He  loved  his  wife  and  feared 
her,  and  always  obeyed  her. 

Tim  wiled  away  the  evening  with  some 
stories,  and  then  fell  asleep.  Jennie  was 
still  wakeful,  and  kept  the  fire  blazing. 
Charlie  watched  her  in  a  half  dreamy  sort 
of  way,  as  the  flames  danced  upon  her  mas- 
sive and  weather-beaten  features.  Will 
tumbled  into  his  blanket  by  the  side  of  Tim. 

"  I'd  like  to  swap  with  you,  Jennie,"  said 
Charlie.  "I  never  saw  anybody  that  en- 
joyed life,  under  all  circumstances,  so  well 
as  you.  I  think  you  must  have  a  lien  upon 
fate." 

"I  don't  understand  that,"  said  Jennie. 
"I  don't  know  about  fate.  That's  beyond 
me.  I  know  that  I  live,  and  I  don't  see  tht 
use  of  knowing  any  more." 

"  You  don't  care,  then,  to  know  where ; 
came  from  ?  " 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


67 


"  No.  It  wouldn't  make  me  any  happier 
or  any  wiser  for  what  I've  got  to  do 
to-day." 

"  And  you  don't  care  whither  you  go?" 

"No.  The  present  is  all  I  can  handle. 
Every  moment  keeps  me  busy.  I  haven't 
time  to  trouble  myself  about  eternity,  as  the 
ministers  call  it.  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
and  I  guess  they  don't." 

"You've  suffered  a  good  deal?" 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"  And  you  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  suf- 
fering?" 

«Yes." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it? " 

"  I  don't  think  anything  about  it.  When 
it's  over  with,  I  forget  it." 

" Have  you  forgotten  your  children?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  have  forgotten  that  they  are 
dead." 

"  Do  you  wish  they  were  alive  ?  " 

"  I  wish  nothing.    What's  the  use? " 

"Then,  you  believe  that  whatever  is  is 
right?" 

"No,  I  don't.  I  don't  believe  anything 
about  it.  How  can  I,  when  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  philosopher." 

"No,  I'm  not.  That's  too  big  a  word  for 
me.  I  just  do ;  and,  when  I  do  it,  what's  the 
use  of  thinking  about  it?  It's  better  to  do 
something  else." 

"  I  suppose  you'd  rather  live  than  die  ?  " 

"  Yes,  so  long  as  I'm  alive." 

"  And  when  you  are  dead  ?  " 

"  Then,  I'd  rather  be  dead." 

"  Nothing  troubles  you  ?  " 

"Only  myself,  when  I  make  a  blunder. 
And  then  I  swear  and  get  over  it,  and  go  to 
work." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  meet  your  children 
hereafter?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that, 
either.  If  I  ever  see  them  again,  I  shall  be 
glad.  If  I  don't,  I  can  stand  it  as  well  as  I 
do  now." 

"  Then,  you  simply  believe  in  doing  your 
next  duty?" 

•'I  don't  know  anything  about  duty.     I 


do  what  I  think  best,  and  that  is  generally 
what  I  want  to  do." 

"  When  you  take  care  of  some  poor,  sick 
devil,  don't  you  expect  to  be  rewarded 
for  it?" 

"  Of  course  not.  I  don't  want  anything, 
except  to  have  him  get  well.  I've  talked 
too  much  already.  I'm  sleepy.  Good- 
night." 

"  Good-night." 

In  a  moment  almost,  both  were  sound 
asleep. 

Golden  Throne  was  ready  to  welcome 
them. 

"  Tell  us  the  news,"  said  Grubbins. 

«  You  shall  have  it,"  said  Charlie ;  "  but 
haven't  you  any  news  ?  " . 

"  Yes :  here's  a  couple  of  letters  for  you." 

Charlie  tore  them  open.  One  was  in  a 
delicate,  woman's  hand :  the  other  was  evi- 
dently from  Jimmy. 

"A  letter  from  Jimmy?  Yes,  and  this 
one,—  let  me  see, —  hurrah !  it  tells  all  about 
little  Pete.  Come,  let's  eat  and  drink  and 
read  the  news.  I  know  it's  something 
good." 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THEY  all  gathered  around  while  Charlie 
read  the  news.  He  read  first  about  little 
Pete.  The  letter  was  from  a  Miss  Blanche 
Kennedy,  who,  it  appeared,  was  a  cousin  to 
little  Pete. 

"  Little  Pete,"  she  wrote,  "  came  to  us  after 
many  struggles.  We  did  not  know  that  he 
was  living.  He  has  had  a  strange  history. 
He  told  us  all  about  his  wonderful  escape  at 
Golden  Throne  and  what  you  did  for  him. 
He  desires  me  to  express  his  gratitude.  We 
purpose  to  give  him  every  advantage.  He 
studies  hard,  and  seems  quite  happy.  He 
wishes  me  to  ask  you  to  call,  when  you  come 
to  the  city.  You  will  find  him  at  our  resi- 
dence, No.  101  Fountain  Street,  San  Fran- 
cisco." 

"I  wish  I'd  a  known  it,"  said  Charlie, 
"when  I  was  there.  I  would  like  to  see 
him.  I'm  glad  he's  so  fortunate :  he  deserves 
it,  I  guess.  Now  for  Jimmy.  He  gives  us 


68 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


a  dose,  about  a  dozen  pages.  He  must  have 
had  some  adventures  since  he  left  us.  Pre- 
pare to  listen.  Here  goes  : — 

Old  Chum, —  Once  more  in  New  England ! 
And  I  can't  tell  you  how  jolly  I  feel,  with  the  gold 
jingling  in  my  pockets,  and  the  world  fresh  as  a 
May  day.  I've  had  some  fun,  and  I  don't  know 
where  to  begin.  There's  a  volume  to  write,  and 
a  lot  of  postscripts  in  addition.  I  pointed  for 
New  York  the  first  thing,  and  went  to  Delmon- 
ico's  and  then  to  Wallack's,  and  hegan  to  feel 
like  a  man.  A  good  meal  and  a  splendid  play 
are  mighty  good  enliveners.  Of  course,  I  went  to 
church  on  Sunday ;  but  I  wanted  to  get  as  near 
as  possible  to  something  like  a  theatre,  and  so  I 
went  to  hear  Talmage.  I  happened  to  catch  him 
when  he  attacked  Ingersoll,  and  it  was  quite 
amusing.  He  fixed  things  up  to  suit  himself  very 
nicely.  His  interpretations  of  Scripture  would 
have  made  John  Calvin  tnrn  in  his  grave.  He 
didn't  stick  to  the  Bible,  but  he  stuck  to  Tal- 
mage ;  and,  when  the  Bible  wasn't  sufficient,  he 
pieced  it  out  with  a  plenty  of  himself,  and  his 
audience  took  it  for  the  genuine  gospel.  If  he 
said  the  flood  wasn't  universal,  why,  they  all  be- 
lieved it,  although  from  childhood  they  had  been 
taught  that  it  was  universal,  and  the  shells  on  the 
mountain-tops  had  been  adduced  as  evidence  of  it. 
Poor  old  by-gone  interpreters  of  the  Bible,  how 
the  orator  did  demolish  them !  And  I  was  think- 
ing just  how  easily  his  own  new  version  would  be 
rejected  when  the  exigencies  of  science  demanded 
it.  What  a  kaleidoscope  the  Bible  is !  It  takes 
new  colors  and  shapes  every  time  the  fingers  of 
science  give  it  a  turn.  You  see,  the  Christian 
apologist  nowadays  don't  read  the  Bible  first  to 
learn  what  it  says  and  means,  but  he  studies 
science,  and  finds  what  its  demands  are;  and 
then  he  shrewdly  twists  the  Scriptures  into  any 
form  to  suit  those  demands.  If  science  says  six 
periods,  then  the  Bible  says  six  periods,  and 
not  six  days;  and  so  on.  Science  goes  ahead, 
and  the  Bible  tamely  follows.  It  amused  me 
to  notice  that  Talmage  in  his  reply  to  Inger- 
soll said  those  things  that  three  hundred  years 
ago  would  have  convicted  him  of  heresy  and 
burned  him  at  the  stake.  So  the  world  does  pro- 
gress, and  Talmage  is  a  straw  to  show  it.  He  is 
valuable  as  a  straw,  otherwise  he  is  of  little  note. 
He  dances  on  the  stream  of  public  opinion,  and 
helps  to  show  just  about  how  things  are  going. 

I  was  delighted  with  Boston.    I  felt  aesthetic 
at  once.      I  went  to  the  Common  and  quoted 


Greek,  and  in  the  evening  went  to  tie  Greek  play, 
and  applauded  just  in  the  right  place, —  thanks 
to  a  libretto.  Isn't  it  queer  that  Boston  should 
be  going  crazy  over  a  pagan  drama  1  What 
would  the  Puritans  say  ?  I  heard  Savage  while 
here, — a  tip-top  liberal  preacher,  who  don't  mince 
matters  at  all.  It  stirred  me  like  a  trumpet  to 
hear  him.  I  only  wish  I  could  take  the  same 
stand  he  does,  and  be  as  bold  and  manly.  But  I 
can't.  I'm  all  bound  up  and  twisted  with  the  past, 
so  far  as  my  feelings  are  concerned,  and  I  can't 
follow  my  head.  But  I  like  to  have  the  truth 
spoken  bravely,  though  I  haven't  the  backbone  to 
do  it  myself.  I  suppose  I  must  always  belong  to 
the  Methodist  Church.  I  can't  sunder  myself. 
A  thousand  associations  cling  about  my  heart, 
tender  and  subtle,  and  I  cannot  fling  them  off 
and  go  forth  untrammelled.  I  cannot  express  the 
feelings  that  swept  over  me  like  a  flood,  when  I 
reached  old  scenes,  when  I  saw  the  old  church 
where  I  used  to  preach,  the  village  so  lovely,  the 
trees,  the  hills,  the  sky.  I  flung  myself  down  and 
kissed  the  earth,  sweet  to  me  as  a  mother's  bosom. 

But  the  way  people  met  me  was,  as  you  might 
say,  edif  jing.  They  regarded  me  as  a  lost  sheep, 
most  of  them,  and  were  very  careful  what  they 
said  and  did.  They  didn't  want  to  commit  them- 
selves. I  saw  a  great  many,  when  I  happened 
along,  walk  over  to  the  other  side  like  the  priest 
and  Levite,  and  pass  me  by.  They  didn't  wish  to 
snub  me,  and  they  didn't  wan't  to  shake  hands 
with  me.  I  quietly  suffered  myself  to  be  tabooed, 
for  I  knew  it  would  come  out  all  right  in  the  end. 
You  see,  I  didn't  put  on  any  new  clothes  to  begin 
with,  not  even  a  new  hat.  I  didn't  even  consult  a 
boot-black  or  a  barber.  I  just  wanted  to  see  how 
much  genuine  humanity  there  was  in  the  church. 
Some  of  course  treated  me  decently,  and  were 
really  glad  to  give  me  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  my  reception  was  very  formal. 
I  felt  almost  as  if  I  had  discovered  the  North 
Pole,  without  making  an  Arctic  journey.  It  was 
quite  cool  weather. 

Grandmother  Harris  was  as  true  as  steel,  and 
greeted  me  as  warmly  as  if  I  were  her  child, 
though  I  did  look  so  outlandish.  You  don't 
know  her  ?  Well,  she  is  one  of  those  dear  souls 
that  live  to  be  almost  a  hundred  years  old,  but 
are  as  lively  as  a  cricket,  and  chock-full  of  the 
milk  of  human  kindness.  She  has  lived,  I  don't 
know  how  long,  in  the  village.  She  isn't  rich, 
but  somehow  she  manages  to  help  everybody. 
Oh,  the  good  talks  I  used  to  have  with  her! 
Moreover,  she  is  one  of  the  best  of  cooks,  and 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


69 


such  delicious  meals  as  she  used  to  provide  when 
I  made  pastoral  calls !  I  was  just  hungry  for  one 
of  them,  and  I  dropped  in  almost  the  first  thing. 
She  never  said  a  word  about  my  shortcomings. 
You  wouldn't  have  known  by  her  talk  but  what  I 
was  the  bishop  himself,  and  immaculate  as  an 
angel.  She  didn't  seem  to  have  the  least  suspi- 
cion that  I  was  a  miserable  sinner.  In  fact,  she 
made  me  feel  like  a  man,  and  put  a  hope  and 
courage  into  me  that  ten  thousand  gospels  could 
not.  I  know  that  this  world  won't  go  to  the 
dogs  with  such  women  in  it.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  how  it  helped  things,  when  I  put  on  a  new 
coat  and  a  stove-pipe  hat.  People  were  much 
more  respectful,  though  many  still  hung  off. 
Then,  I  went  to  Conference.  My  ministerial 
brethren  were  dead  set  against  me.  They  felt 
well  enough  toward  me  at  heart,  the  generality 
of  them ;  but  they  didn't  dare  to  make  any  public 
expression,  for  they  didn't  know  exactly  what 
people  might  think.  And  you  know  ministers 
never  do  anything,  unless  they  feel  pretty  sure 
that  the  crowd  will  back  them  up.  Well,  I  kept 
a  stiff  upper  lip,  and  jingled  the  gold  in  my 
pocket.  I  knew  my  time  was  coming.  There 
was  one  old  elder  awfully  stiff.  He  looked  as  if 
my  presence  were  a  contamination.  I  only  said, 
You'll  come  down,  old  fellow.  Wait  till  they  take 
up  a  collection.  I'll  join  in  that  religious  service, 
and  make  you  smile.  So  I  listened  to  the 
speeches  and  the  prayers,  and  stood  the  cold 
weather  until  the  contribution-box  came  round. 
Then,  with  a  good  deal  of  quiet  ostentation,  I 
dropped  in  five  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces.  Well, 
I  was  in  the  tropics  at  once.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  the  elder.  He  smiled  all  over,  and  cried  out, 
"  Thank  the  Lord,  brother."  The  welcome  that 
I  received  then,  and  the  hand-shakings  !  I  sub- 
scribed five  hundred  dollars  to  the  missionary 
cause.  From  that  moment,  my  triumph  was  com- 
plete. The  bishops  all  crowded  about,  and  I  was 
invited  to  preach  at  once  before  some  of  the  most 
fashionable  churches.  I  have  received  several 
calls,  and  my  sins  are  now  all  forgiven. 

I  have  indeed  preached,  and  have  been  applauded 
to  the  echo.  I  haven't  given  them  a  bit  of  hell- 
fire,  and  they  all  like  it.  They  say,  How  beautiful, 
how  gospel-like !  People  don't  like  hell-fire  now ; 
and  yet,  if  I  should  say  that  I  didn't  believe  in 
hell-fire,  they  would  hold  up  their  hands  in  holy 
horror,  and  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  Isn't  it  a 
queer  mess  ? 

But  the  best  is  to  come  yet.  I'm  in  love,  and 
that's  the  solvent  of  all  the  problems  of  life.  If 


a  man  can  find  a  good  woman  to  love  and  be  true 
to,  he  can  let  all  the  theologies  go  by  the  board. 
But  love  is  a  thing  of  chance.  It  comes  and  goes 
like  the  wind,  and  we  cannot  tell  whence  it 
cometh  and  whither  it  goeth.  I've  never  had 
such  an  experience  before ;  for  the  whole  depth  of 
my  nature  is  stirred,  and  I  seem  to  be  in  a  new 
heaven  and  earth. 

Maddox's  daughter  lived  away  up  in  the  Con- 
necticut valley,  in  Guilford,  where  I  myself  was 
born.  I  had  about  a  thousand  dollars  for  her. 
I  discovered  her  hard  at  work,  struggling  along, 
with  scarcely  a  friend  to  help.  The  money  was 
a  joyful  surprise  to  her,  and  it  did  my  soul  good 
to  pour  the  shining  dollars  into  her  lap.  But  I 
want  to  tell  you  she's  just  the  prettiest,  sweetest 
girl  I  ever  saw,  and  I  loved  her  at  first  sight,  and 
it  didn't  take  me  long  to  find  out  that  she  loved 
me.  I  assure  you  she  is  no  ordinary  woman. 
She  has  a  wonderful  strength  of  mind,  and  over- 
flows with  vivacity.  She  is  like  a  fairy.  She  is 
like  a  bird  too,  full  of  melody.  But  I  won't 
trouble  you  with  my  ecstasies.  I  am  happy,  and 
that's  enough.  I  haven't  any  plans  for  the  fut- 
ure. Possibly,  I  may  come  to  California,  but  the 
marriage  bells  must  ring  first. 

Yours  truly,        JAMES  DEMOREST, 

or  JIMMY,  if  you  like. 

"That's  good,"  said  Charlie.  "A  lost 
sheep  is  comfortably  fixed  the  moment  he 
gets  money." 

"  I  am  sorry  he  is  in  love,"  said  the  dea- 
con. "I  am  afraid  it  will  ruin  him,  and 
make  him  forget  God.  He  ought  to  turn  to 
the  Saviour." 

"  Bosh !  "  said  Charlie.  "  Love  is  the  only 
thing  that  can  save  him.  It's  the  best  relig- 
ion a  man  can  have.  What's  the  use  of 
talking  about  God?  If  one  can't  love  a 
pretty  woman  that  he  sees,  I  am  sure  he 
can't  love  God  whom  he  doesn't  see.  That's 
Scripture,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  carnal  affection,"  snuffled  the  dea- 
con. "We  must  give  up  all  such  things, 
and  serve  the  Lord." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  serving  the 
Lord  ?  "  asked  Charlie. 

"Why,  praying  and  fasting,  and  reading 
the  Bible  and  thinking  of  your  sins." 

"  WThat  good  does  that  do  the  Lord? " 


70 


GOLDEN    THRONE. 


"He  demands  it,  and  we  should  obey," 
said  the  deacon,  humbly. 

"  How  do  you  know  he  demands  it  ?  If 
there  is  a  God,  it  seems  to  me  the  best 
way  to  worship  him  is  to  help  our  neighbor." 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  the  deacon.  "  That's 
natural  goodness,  and  it  don't  count.  We 
must  do  something  we  don't  want  to  do. 
We  must  crucify  ourselves." 

"  I  don't  care  to  go  to  heaven  that  way. 
It's  a  poor  bargain.  I  prefer  to  enjoy  life 
as  I  go  along.  As  for  Jimmy,  I'll  bet  on 
him,  now  that  he's  in  love." 

The  deacon  turned  away,  groaning.  He 
was  indeed  a  melancholy  saint.  But,  with 
all  his  melancholy,  he  was  shrewd  enough  to 
look  after  the  dollars.  He  didn't  serve  the 
Lord  so  faithfully  but  what  he  could  dig 
gold  and  pack  it  away.  He  was  a  cold- 
blooded fellow,  and  was  careful  to  turn 
everything  to  his  advantage.  As  luck  would 
have  it,  he  struck  a  pretty  rich  vein,  and  for 
a  while  he  revelled  in  the  accumulation  of 
wealth.  Then,  the  vein  was  lost  again. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  farther  chance,  and 
he  determined  to  go  to  San  Francisco. 
Before  taking  his  departure,  however,  he 
wished  to  do  some  missionary  work,  and  so 
he  procured  a  box  of  Bibles.  Bibles  are 
always  handy  and  ready  for  distribution. 
For  some  reason,  saints  take  more  pleasure 
in  distributing  them  than  bread  and  butter. 
It  is  for  the  glory  of  God,  while  bread  and 
butter  is  for  the  benefit  of  man. 

The  deacon  called  a  meeting,  made  a  lit- 
tle speech  and  a  long  prayer.  His  speech 
was  as  follows :  — 

"  Fellow-travellers  to  eternity,  we  are  so- 
journers  here  for  a  few  days  only.  This  is 
a  world  of  shadows,  a  vale  of  tears.  We 
must  prepare  for  the  judgment.  We  must 
sit  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  mourn  our  , 
sins.  I  speak  to  you  as  on  the  verge  of  hell. 
I  can  hear  the  roaring  of  the  flame  and  the 
groans  of  the  tormented.  I  can  see  the 
wrath  of  God.  Oh,  tremble,  for  he  is  a 
great  and  terrible  God  !  Listen  to  his  word, 
I  give  it  to  you.  Read  and  meditate  and 
repent,  and  cry  out  for  mercy." 


The  deacon's  prayer  was  too  long  to  re- 
port. But  there  was  no  need  of  that,  for 
everybody  at  Golden  Throne  knew  it  by 
heart.  The  deacon  always  prayed  extempo- 
raneously. He  believed  that  one's  petitions 
should  come  directly  from  the  heart.  He 
was  down  on  all  rituals  and  ceremonies. 
Nevertheless,  his  prayer  was  always  the 
same;  and,  after  a  few  times,  the  whole 
camp  could  repeat  it  as  glibly  as  the  deacon 
himself.  No  one,  however,  felt  disposed  to 
rob  the  deacon.  His  prayer  was  as  safe  as 
if  copyrighted. 

"  Say,  deacon,"  said  Charlie,  "  I  think  you 
might  do  something  better  than  distribute 
those  Bibles.  There's  Aunt  Eliza  down 
here,  she's  sick  and  can't  do  any  washing 
and  needs  money.  Sell  the  Bibles,  and  give 
her  the  money." 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  said  the  deacon.  "  The 
Bible  is  for  our  immortal  souls.  The  body 
must  perish,  but  the  soul  survives." 

"But,  while  the  body  does  live,  I  think 
we'd  better  take  care  of  it.  If  the  soul  has 
another  chance,  so  much  the  better.  The 
body  hasn't,  and  we  ought  to  be  kinder  to  it. 
Come  now,  I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars  cash 
down  for  them  books.  I'll  burn  the  books, 
and  you  can  give  the  money  to  poor  Eliza 
and  help  save  her  life." 

"  Oh,  no  1 "  said  the  deacon.  "  I'll  take  your 
money  and  send  it  to  the  heathen,  but  I 
must  distribute  these  Bibles.  I'm  agent  for 
the  missionary  society.  I'll  forward  your 
contribution  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  or  to 
Patagonia.  It  may  be  the  means  of  con- 
verting some  poor  savage." 

"Yes,  and  making  a  rogue  of  him. 
take  the  money  to  the  poor  folks  here," 
Charlie. 

The  deacon  distributed  the   Bibles  i 
solemn  unction,  quoting  a  text  here 
there,  such  as  :    "  The    devils  believe  ai 
tremble.    The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pi 
sueth.     Woe  unto  you  generation  of  vipei 
Depart,  ye  cursed,  into   everlasting    flar 
Without  are  sorcerers  and  dogs  and  wh< 
mongers,"  and  all  such  delectable  phrt 
which  he  was  very  fond  of  repeating. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


71 


I  suppose  not  many  tears  were  shed  when 
the  deacon  left  the  camp.  He  pretended  to 
be  very  poor,  but  the  fact  is  he  took  away 
about  twenty  thousand  dollars.  Although 
so  humble  in  outward  appearance,  he  had  a 
vast  ambition.  He  meant  to  be  a  million- 
aire, and  build  a  church  and  endow  a  semi- 
nary. With  what  success,  we  shall  find  out 
hereafter. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

MONTHS  rolled  by. 

"I  am  going  to  pull  up  stakes,"  said 
Charlie.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  this  life, 
haven't  you,  Bill  ?  It's  time  for  a  change." 

"I'm  ready,"  said  Bill.  "We've  done 
pretty  well." 

"That's  a  fact.  Golden  Throne  has 
turned  out  to  be  a  *  golden  throne  *  for  a 
good  many  of  us.  We  struck  it  rich  in 
Jimmy's  mine ;  and  ours  haven't  been  any 
poor  shakes.  We  can  count  up  a  good  heap. 
We  might  as  well  stop  and  enjoy  the 
world." 

"Of  course.  It's  no  use  to  earn  this 
money,  unless  we  spend  it;  and  we  can't 
spend  it  here  to  much  advantage." 

"  Not  at  present ;  but  Golden  Throne  is 
bound  to  be  a  big  place.  Do  you  know 
those  are  first-class  mineral  springs  where 
Prince  Hal  has  squatted?  This  will  be  the 
Saratoga  of  the  West.  We  might  stay  and 
become  nabobs.  But  we  have  the  golden 
key,  and  can  open  the  doors  of  the  wide 
world  anywhere.  I'm  bound  for  'Frisco. 
Something  will  turn  up  there.  If  I  get 
tired,  I  can  come  back,  for  I  shall  still  hang 
on  to  my  claim.  Do  you  tumble  to  this, 
Bill?" 

"  I  do." 

It  doesn't  take  long  for  miners  to  equip 
themselves  to  go  anywhere,  and  the  next 
day  these  two  adventurers  were  ready. 

"Good-by,  Grubbins.  I'm  glad  you've 
been  elected  to  the  legislature.  I  gave  you 
my  little  vote.  Do  the  best  you  can.  You've 
got  a  hard  row  to  hoe  to  please  yourself  and 
the  people  and  the  rulers,  for  we  have  rulers, 
though  we  don't  dub  them  with  any  titles  ; 


and,  in  order  to  succeed,  you  must  bend 
the  knee  to  them.  But  this  is  not  always 
safe,  for  the  people  have  strength  and  occa- 
sionally know  how  to  use  it,  and  you  must 
keep  half  an  eye  on  them,  or  you  will  go 
overboard.  Moreover,  one  does  want  to 
obey  his  conscience  now  and  then ;  and 
that's  a  bother  to  a  thorough-going  politi- 
cian. So,  Grubbins,  I  don't  envy  you,  though 
you  march  into  the  White  House.  Pilkins, 
Judge  Pilkins,  I  hope  you'll  keep  the  peace. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  sit  down  on  the  law- 
breaker, and  he  will  succumb.  Tim,  I  want 
a  little  of  your  best  old  rye  before  I  go.  It 
will  remind  me  of  Gooch,  who,  as  you  re- 
member, was  very  fond  of  that  article.  Jen- 
nie, be  good  to  yourself;  and  the  rest  of 
you,  farewell." 

"  Charlie  is  my  spokesman,  I  join  in," 
said  Bill. 

"  Of  course,  you'll  come  back  again,"  said 
Pilkins.  "  Golden  Throne  will  be  the  hub  of 
the  universe.  I  shall  issue  my  new  paper, 
The  Golden  Eagle,  next  week.  We'll  have  a 
railroad  next  year,  and  a  big  hotel.  You 
won't  know  the  place  when  you  return." 

Charlie  was  full  of  hope  as  he  set  his  face 
toward  the  great  city.  He  had  worked 
with  steady  purpose  for  the  last  few  months, 
and  now  he  had  accumulated  what  might  be 
termed  a  small  fortune.  His  determination 
was  to  remain  in  the  city.  He  was  still 
haunted  by  the  lovely  face  of  the  unknown 
woman.  He  wanted  to  find  her;  and  he 
meant  to,  if  she  was  anywhere  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

Will  Burnham  was  full  of  the  same  ad- 
venturous and  i-estless  spirit.  He  was  also 
desirous  of  a  change.  He  wished  to  see 
more  of  the  great  world,  and  try  his  luck  in 
the  crowded  thoroughfare.  He  had  for  the 
present  experienced  enough  of  solitude.  He 
wanted  now  to  plunge  into  life. 

Paddie  John  leaped  out  of  his  chair  al- 
most as  they  clattered  into  his  sanctum  sanc- 
torum, where  he  was  busily  engaged  in 
writing. 

"Come  for  good?  Hurrah!  I've  been 
homesick  for  you.  I'm  on  the  rack  all  the 


72 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


time,  work  day  and  night,  can't  stop.  I 
sometimes  think  I'll  be  a  pauper  again,  and 
loaf  and  dream  and  meditate.  This  tussle 
don't  give  me  any  chance  to  be  a  philoso- 
pher." 

"  You  grow  fat  on  it,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Will:  "you  are  as  round  and  rosy  as  a 
bishop." 

"  Oh,  yes !  it  agrees  with  me,  carnally 
speaking,"  said  Paddie,  "  and  so  I  can  stand 
it.  I  eat  a  porter-house  steak  every  day, 
and  spend  a  couple  of  hours  digesting  it 
with  a  bottle  of  wine.  If  I  didn't  do  that, 
I  should  certainly  die." 

"  What  do  you  do,  anyway  ?  "  asked  Char- 
lie. 

"  I  write  the  London  and  Paris  and  New 
York  correspondence,  and  review  all  the 
books,  no  matter  in  what  language  they  are 
written,  and  the  less  I  know  of  them  the 
better.  I  criticise  to  suit  the  public  ;  and  I 
study  the  public,  not  the  book.  I  write  the 
news  of  the  day,  tell  what  is  going  on  in 
matters  of  science,  and  announce  every  new 
discovery.  I  keep  people  informed  of  the 
movements  of  society,  post  them  in  the  lat- 
est fashion,  and  describe  every  new  dress 
that  is  worn.  I  write  articles  on  history, 
painting,  sculpture,  sociology,  biology,  physi- 
ology, and  psychology,  as  they  are  demanded. 
Luckily,  people  don't  want  to  know  any- 
thing about  theology,  sc  I  let  that  alone." 

"  How  do  you  find  time  for  all  this? " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  has  to  be  done,  I  do 
it,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  If  an  editor 
doesn't  know  everything,  he  must  give  up." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  be  a  ghost." 

"  On  the  contrary,  the  only  way  to  acquire 
universal  knowledge  is  to  be  fat ;  so  I  grow 
fat,  and  there  is  no  subject  that  I  am  not  at 
home  with.  By  the  way,  did  you  know  that 
Jimmy  was  in  the  city,  or,  to  speak  more 
respectfully,  the  Rev.  James  Demorest  ?  " 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"  Yes,  and  he's  the  most  popular  minister 
in  the  city.  He  draws  crowds.  I  go  to  hear 
him,  and  report  him  now  and  then.  He  does 
it  up  in  style,  I  assure  you.  He  preaches 
right  to  the  heart.  He  makes  'em  weep 


and  sometimes  laugh;  and  sometimes  they 
almost  applaud,  he's  so  eloquent.  You  mubt 
see  him." 

"  Perhaps  he  won't  want  to  see  us,  no> 
that  he's  respectable." 

"Yes,  he  will.     He's  an  honest  fellow, 
and  don't  put  on  airs.     I  don't  understan< 
how  he  can  preach  the  nonsense  he  does 
but  that's  his  business,  not  mine.      He's 
man,  anyway ;   and  he  has  the  loveliest  wife 
in  the  world.     She's  a  gem  of  a  woman." 

"  We  must  see  him,  sure.  And  how's  Big 
Dick?" 

"  Come  along  and  call  with  me.  I  prom- 
ised to  go  down  there  this  evening.  He's 
doing  splendidly  in  the  fire  department. 
He's  the  boss  hero,  isn't  afraid  of  anything. 
He's  married  too,  and  to  the  littlest  bit  of  a 
woman ;  but  she's  spunky.  She  makes  Dick 
toe  the  mark.  She's  'cute  about  it  though, 
always  smiling  and  sweet;  but  she  never 
backs  down." 

In  a  few  moments,  they  were  in  the  nice, 
cosey  home  of  Big  Dick. 

"Why,  pardners,  how  are  you?"  he  cried. 
"  Just  from  the  mines  ?  All  right,  I  hope.  I 
hear  good  news  from  your  way.  Lots  of  gold." 

"Enough,"  said  Charlie,  "to  speculate 
with.  By  the  way,  what  did  you  do  with 
the  thousand  I  sent  you?  You  said  you 
were  going  to  try  your  luck  on  *  change.'  " 

"  I  did,  and  lost  every  damned  cent,"  said 
Big  Dick.  "  I  expected  a  turn,  and  we  all 
expected  a  turn  ;  but  it  came  the  other  way, 
and  so  I  went  under.  Good  enough  for  me ! 
I  was  a  fool.  We  are  nothing  but  flies. 
The  spiders  spread  their  nets,  and  we  tum- 
ble in.  Here's  my  wife,  Polly.  She's  going 
to  take  care  of  the  cash  after  this.  I'm  go- 
ing to  stick  to  work." 

Polly  was  a  smart  little  woman,  no  mis- 
take. She  kept  the  house  as  neat  as  a  pin. 
She  could  talk  well,  and  was  full  of  fun. 
She  loved  Big  Dick,  and  he  fairly  wor- 
shipped her.  She  had  the  better  bead  of  the 
two,  and  it  was  but  natural  that  she  should 
rule. 

The  moments  flew  by  while  the  company 
talked  of  many  an  exciting  adventure. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


73 


"By  the  way,"  said  Charlie,  "have  you 
seen  anything  of  little  Pete  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Big  Dick. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Paddie.  "  I've  looked  for 
him,  but  never  came  across  him.  I  wonder 
if  he's  vanished  like  a  shadow,  as  he  seemed 
to  be." 

"  I  must  find  him.  He  has  an  uncle  in 
the  city,"  said  Charlie.  "  He  had  something 
in  him,  after  all." 

"  I  couldn't  make  him  out,"  said  Dick : 
"  he  was  queer." 

"  We  all  of  us  would  be  queer,  if  we  were 
placed  in  certain  circumstances,"  said  Char- 
lie. "Our  surroundings  help  to  make  us 
decent  and  agreeable.  Little  Pete  wasn't 
where  he  belonged.  Put  him  in  the  right 
place,  and  we  might  be  surprised  at  the 
change." 

Charlie  spent  the  next  day  in  search  of 
his  fanciful  love.  He  roamed  through  al- 
most every  street,  and  gazed  at  every  passing 
countenance  ;  but  he  did  not  see  the  woman 
of  his  dreams. 

"I  might  as  well  search  for  a  bubble  in 
the  ocean,"  said  Charlie.  "  She  has  flashed 
away  into  the  great  deep,  and  I  shall  not  see 
her  again." 

"  Such  is  life,"  said  Paddie,  "  and  we  are 
fools  to  bother  about  what  is  past." 

"  I  suppose  you  were  never  in  love,"  said 
Charlie. 

"Oh,  yes,  a  thousand  times.  I  love  a 
pretty  face  as  well  as  I  love  the  stars  and 
the  sea  and  the  flowers.  But  I  don't  linger 
over  one  flower.  Why  should  I,  when  there 
are  millions  in  the  world?  I'm  always  in 
love,  but  not  with  the  same  face.  To-day 
it's  a  blonde,  to-morrow  it's  a  brunette.  Now 
it's  a  blue  eye,  and  then  a  black  eye,  and 
then  a  melancholy  gray.  Now  I  admire  a 
fragile,  delicate  form,  then  I  like  a  buxom 
lass.  So  the  waves  come  and  go,  and  the 
lights  change,  and  the  new  continually  at- 
tracts." 

"  That  may  suit  you,  but  it  doesn't  me," 
said  Charlie.  "  I  like  the  old  as  I  like  an 
old  song  that,  being  sung  a  thousand  times, 
is  precious  to  my  memory.  So  old  friends 


grow  sweet  as  day  by  day  nev,  associations 
cluster  about  them.  So,  if  I  had  a  love,  it 
seems  to  me  that  it  would  ever  grow  dearer. 
I  could  not  change  it  for  a  new." 

"  Love,"  said  Will,  "  dwells  both  in  the 
new  and  old ;  and  the  old  is  as  fresh  as  the 
new.  Do  we  not  live  in  the  past  as  much  as 
we  do  in  the  present,  even  as  the  tree  lives 
not  only  in  the  sky,  but  in  the  earth  ?  He  is 
not  a  man  who  does  not  live  over  and  over 
again  the  precious  moments  that  have  fled, 
and  take  their  sweetness  as  if  they  were 
immortal." 

"  We  must  live  our  nature,"  said  Paddie. 
"  I  like  to  fly,  to  roam  over  new  lands.  I 
can't  be  bound." 

"  Nor  I,  except  by  my  own  thought,"  said 
Charlie.  "But  what's  the  use?  I  can't 
evoke  this  lady  by  any  magic,  as  she  has,  no 
doubt,  forgotten  me.  I  presume  it  would  be 
wise  to  forget  her ;  but,  alas  !  her  image  is 
as  bright  as  on  the  evening  that  I  first 
glanced  at  her,  and  when  she  almost  smiled 
upon  me,  as  I  thought.  Good-by  for  a  spell, 
boys.  I  must  hunt  up  little  Pete  this  even- 
ing. I  hope  no  ill  has  happened  to  him." 

Charlie  sauntered  forth  into  the  brilliantly 
lighted  city.  The  strange  and  wonderful 
panorama  of  its  life  passed  before  him, —  so 
many  happy,  so  many  wof ul  faces.  He  was 
not  in  a  very  hopeful  mood.  He  was  pressed 
upon  by  the  infinite  mystery  of  our  human 
existence,  by  that  deepest  mystery  of  all,  the 
mystery  of  love.  Why  did  he  care  so  pas- 
sionately for  this  woman  that  had  flashed 
but  for  an  instant  in  his  life  ?  He  could  not 
banish  her  image.  It  was  with  him  always, 
and  touched  him  with  a  marvellous  reminis- 
cence, like  some  strain  cf  music  that  we 
think  we  have  heard  for  the  first  time ;  and 
yet  it  vibrates  through  all  the  chambers  of 
the  memory  like  a  familiar  sound,  and 
evokes  many  a  forgotten  dream,  as  if  it  and 
the  dream  were  mingled  in  their  birth,  both 
bursting  in  the  same  happy  moment  of  the 
long  ago. 

Charlie  had  a  certain  ideality  in  his  dispo- 
sition, and  his  scepticism  was,  to  a  certain 
extent,  the  result  of  his  ideality;  for  his 


74 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


ideality  broke  in  many  waves  of  disappoint- 
ment upon  the  rugged  masses  of  real  life, 
and  fell  back  upon  his  heart  with  desolate 
reaction.  He  could  not  square  his  bright 
idealism  with  the  world  that  was  round 
about  him.  His  early  training  had  tended 
to  disenchant  the  outward  world,  making  it 
still  more  gloomy ;  and  thus  the  discordance 
was  far  bitterer.  Still,  in  any  circum- 
stances the  most  favorable,  it  is  painful  to 
surrender  the  ideal  as  we  have  it  in  our  soul, 
and  harmonize  it  with  the  law  and  the  facts 
about  us,  finding  eventually  in  these  laws 
and  facts  a  finer  ideal  than  we  had  ever 
dreamed  of.  Charlie,  through  his  hard  and 
terrible  experiences,  had  come  to  this  wise 
forbearance  and  serene  faith.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  accept  the  world  as  it  is,  not  with 
the  air  of  a  cynic,  but  with  the  resolve  of  a 
man  and  the  glad  enthusiasm  of  the  poet. 
Madeline  dwelt  in  his  memory  like  a  beauti- 
ful star,  yet  his  passionate  soul  craved  an 
earthly  love.  After  Madeline,  however,  only 
a  most  noble  spirit  could  satisfy  him.  He 
was  as  exacting  in  his  judgment  of  woman 
as  an  artist  whose  mind  is  continually 
haunted  with  resplendent  ideals.  This 
woman  who  had  casually  flitted  by  him  had 
touched  him  with  surpassing  glory;  and, 
btruggle  as  he  might,  he  was  held  in  bond- 
age by  her  lovely  phantom. 

So  he  floated  on,  in  a  half-dreamy  state, 
through  the  crowded  thoroughfares.  At 
length,  he  reached  the  place  where  he  ex- 
pected to  see  or  hear  something  of  little 
Pete.  It  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
streets  in  the  city,  and  the  house  was  a  large 
and  handsome  one. 

"  I  guess  the  little  fellow's  uncle  i^  ^ich," 
said  Charlie. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  asked  for  Miss 
Blanche  Kennedy.  He  was  shown  by  the 
servant  into  a  splendidly  furnished  parlor. 
It  was  gorgeously  yet  tastefully  decorated. 
There  was  an  Oriental  magnificence  about 
it,  yet  nothing  glaring.  All  sorts  of  curious 
articles  were  in  it,  antique  vases,  plates, 
pictures,  bric-ctrbrac,  old-fashioned  chairs, 
etc.,  and  arranged  with  artistic  skill.  The 


effect  was  admirable ;  and  Charlie,  although 
his  aesthetic  sense  was  not  much  cultivated, 
could  not  help  feeling  the  richness  and  har- 
mony of  the  blending  forms  and  colors. 

"  What  a  romance  this  is  for  little  Pete  ! " 
he  thought.  "  What  a  contrast  to  his  tum- 
ble-down hut  at  Golden  Throne!  What  a 
lucky  thing  that  he  came  here !  I  wonder  if 
he  lives  in  this  house.  It's  curious  how  he 
ever  happened  to  drift  among  the  hills,  a 
poor  devil,  almost  hung,  and  now  perhaps 
he's  on  the  high  road  to  fortune.  Blanche 
Kennedy  is  his  cousin,  I  suppose.  I  wonder 
if  she  has  the  taste  to  arrange  this  room. 
How  beautiful  it  is !  So  fresh,  like  the  sea 
itself,  with  an  air  of  welcome  that  puts  me 
at  ease  as  I  would  be  in  the  woods ! " 

The  door  opened,  and  Charlie  turned  to 
the  advancing  figure.  He  started  back  in 
amazement;  for  the  beautiful  woman  that 
greeted  him,  Blanche  Kennedy,  was  no 
other  than  the  one  who  had  thrilled  him 
months  ago  at  the  Opera  House, —  the  same 
face,  the  same  ineffable  glance,  the  same 
royal  bearing.  The  vision  of  his  soul  was 
before  him,  smiling  and  cordial, —  a  glow- 
ing, wondrous  reality. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  MR.  MORTON,  I  believe  ?  "  said  Blanche, 
with  piquant  grace. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cnarlie.  "  I'm  surprised.  I 
didn't  expect  to  see  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  anxious  to  see  little 
Pete?" 

"Yes,  I  called  for  this  purpose.  I  hope 
he  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  living  here." 

"  Yes,  and  as  happy  as  a  lark." 

"I  should  think  he  would  be.  I  should 
call  it  paradise." 

"  A  little  better  place  than  Golden  Throne 
for  him,  isn't  it?" 

"  I  should  say  so.  It  -wasn't  good  for  his 
health  to  stay  there,  was  it  ?  " 

"  He  has  told  me  about  it.  What  a  queer 
place  Golden  Throne  must  be !  I  feel  quite 
well  acquainted,  Pete  has  told  me  so  much. 
There's  Grubbins  and  Prince  Hal  and  Sol 
Jones  and  Pilkins  and  Paddie  John  and  Bill 


GOLDEN   THKONE. 


75 


and  Big  Dick  and  Jennie  and  Tim.  I'm 
curious  to  know  all  about  them." 

"  They're  scattered.  Bill  and  I  have  left 
Golden  Throne  to  make  our  fortune." 

"What,  in  this  big  city!  Are  you  not 
afraid  of  being  swallowed  up  ?  " 

"  We'll  take  our  chances.  If  we  go  to  the 
wall,  we'll  take  to  digging  again.  Our  arms 
are  strong,  and  fortune  can't  crush  us." 

"And  the  rest?" 

"  Paddie  is  in  the  city.  He's  John  McCon- 
nel  now,  in  civilized  parlance.  He's  on  the 
press,  and  I  suppose  you  read  some  of  his 
dashing  articles  every  day.  Big  Dick  is  in 
the  fire  department.  Mr.  Richard  Cole  is  his 
name  on  the  books.  Sol  Jones  is  running 
for  office,  and  Grubbins  is  in  the  legislature, 
and  Pilkins  is  anywhere  between  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  and  three  hundred  pounds. 
Prince  Hal,  I  suppose,  is  asleep.  Like  Rip 
Van  Winkle,  he  will  wake  up  some  fine 
morning  and  find  himself  rich ;  for  Golden 
Throne  is  bound  to  grow,  and  all  one  has  to 
do  is  to  stay  and  grow  with  it,  like  Jack  on 
the  bean-stalk.  Jennie  and  Tim  are  one 
and  the  same.  The  gray  mare  is  the  better 
horse." 

"  I  forgot  about  Gooch.  Pete  used  to  de- 
scribe him  and  his  praying  and  singing 
Psalms  and  reading  the  Bible." 

"  Gooch  is  pursuing  his  only  earthly  or 
heavenly  desire,  to  make  money;  and  he 
knows  how  to  do  it  in  a  quiet  way.  He 
buys  and  sells  always  on  the  nick  of  time, 
and  prays  with  one  eye  open." 

"  I'm  quite  interested  in  all  these  doings," 
said  Blanche.  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you. 
Shall  I  go  for  little  Pete?  He  will  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you." 

"  Of  course,  I  want  to  see  the  little  cuss ; 
but,  really,  I've  lost  my  interest  in  him  since 
seeing  you." 

"  Oh,  that  isn't  fair  !  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
little  Pete,  I  should  never  have  seen  you." 

"I  did  like  little  Pete,"  said  Charlie. 
"  There  was  something  about  him  so  strange 
and  shadowy,  as  if  he  wasn't  fit  for  this 
world,  and  ought  to  be  an  angel.  I  presume 
he's  changed,  though." 


"  Indeed,  he  is.  You  wouldn't  know  him. 
I  assure  you  he's  quite  stylish,  and  learned, 
too.  Do  you  know  he  can  play  on  the  piano 
and  paint?  He  has  some  notion  of  being 
an  artist." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  a  genius. 
He  looked  half-crazy.  Bring  him.  I  do 
want  to  see  how  he  looks  now." 

"  You  would  know  him,  if  you  saw  him  ?  " 
said  Blanche,  looking  at  him  with  a  bewil- 
dering glance  and  dazzling  smile.  Again, 
the  strange  familiarity  swept  over  her  feat- 
ure*. 

"  Where  have  I  met  you  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Met  me !     How  you  talk,  sir !  " 

"  But  I  have  met  you,"  said  Charlie.  "  I 
saw  you  at  the  Opera  House  on  the  evening 
of  Ingersoll's  lecture,  and  I  thought  then 
that  I  had  seen  you  somewhere.  Your  face 
has  haunted  me,  and  —  yes,  I  must  confess  it 
now  that  [  have  found  you  —  I  have  longed 
to  see  you  ever  since." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Blanche,  delightedly ; 
"  and  now  I  may  confess  that  I  saw  you  too, 
but  you  looked  so  abstracted  that  I  thought 
it  no  use  to  speak  and  claim  old  acquaint- 
ance." 

"  Old  acquaintance  ? "  said  Charlie. 
"What  do  you  mean?  Where  could  we 
have  known  each  other?  Certainly  never, 
unless  it  was  in  some  fairy  kingdom  before 
we  were  born." 

"Oh,  we  have  met  since  then,  and  I  re- 
member it  well." 

"  Tell  me,  if  you  are  not  really  a  fairy, 
where  it  was." 

"  Let  me  see.  It  was  a  dim,  weird  place, 
about  midnight.  The  moon  was  shining 
over  the  rocks  and  trees.  On  the  one  side 
is  the  Buried  Castle,  and  not  far  off  the 
Throne  Room,  and  around,  darkly  glooming, 
Conscience  Pass.  There  are  two  horses,  a 
solitary  figure, —  and  that  I  believe  is 
Charlie, —  and  there  is  a  sudden  report,  and 
then  another  figure,  and  that " —  said 
Blanche,  with  blazing  eyes  and  trembling 
lips,  with  a  boyish  tone  in  her  voice  and  a 
sadden  flinging  back  of  her  head. 

"  Was  little  Pete,"  said  Charlie,  "  and  "— 


76 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


"  And  Blanche,  too,"  burst  forth  the  girl, 
impetuously. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  said  Charlie.  "  You  that 
little  cuss  —  I  mean  that  little  —  lady  !  " 
I'm  thunderstruck.  Little  Pete  not  himself 
after  all,  and  you —  Well,  I  don't  know 
myself  any  more.  Please  stick  a  pin  into 
me,  so  that  I  can  find  out  whether  I  am 
dreaming  or  —  waking." 

"You  didn't  think  you  were  carrying  a 
woman  in  your  arms  on  that  lovely  night, 
and  that  you  might  have  made  a  runaway 
match  of  it,"  carolled  Blanche.  "Isn't  it 
romantic  ?  Why,  how  you  stare !  You  look 
as  if  you  didn't  like  it.  Do  you  wish  I  were 
a  boy  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  then  I  shouldn't  break  my  heart. 
But  come,  tell  me  all  about  it.  I'm  burning 
with  curiosity.  I'm  like  a  woman,  and  must 
have  the  whole  story." 

"It's  a  long  one  and  a  sad  one,"  said 
Blanche. 

"I  fear  it  is,  but  what  a  beautiful  end- 
ing !  You  have  nothing  to  fear  now." 

"  I  suppose  not,  only  that  man.  I  do  so 
dread  to  think  of  him.  If  he  should  find 
me  out " — 

"Don't  fear  him,  whoever  he  is.  He's 
dead." 

"Dead?    Are  you  sure?" 

"  I  saw  his  body  with  my  own  eyes." 

Blanche  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
For  a  moment,  she  could  say  nothing. 

"  Oh,  I  am  thankful !  "  she  murmured  at 
last  softly.  "  He  was  the  horror  of  my 
life." 

"Who  was  he?"  asked  Charlie. 

"  My  husband.  I  fled  from  him  as  from 
a  serpent." 

"  Your  husband !  I  am  amazed  I  What 
is  behind  all  this?  " 

"Listen.  I  will  tell  you.  My  father,  as 
near  as  I  can  remember  and  learn,  was  a 
man  of  literary  genius,  but  indolent  and 
shiftless,  floating  from  place  to  place.  My 
mother  was  a  bright  New  England  girl, 
whose  parents  lived  comfortably  on  a  farm. 
Falling  in  love  with  my  father,  Ralph  Ken- 
nedy, she  married  him,  and  they  came  to 


New  York.  He  earned  a  precarious  living 
by  writing  songs,  etc.,  and  sometimes  play- 
ing in  the  theatres.  My  mother  soon  died, 
overcome  by  hardship,  when  I  was  a  little 
girl.  My  father,  growing  desperate,  mar- 
ried a  woman  who  kept  a  saloon  on  the 
Bowery.  Oh,  the  horror  of  those  yeai  * ! 
My  father  died,  and  I  was  left  in  the  hands 
of  this  terrible  step-mother.  She  treated  me 
cruelly.  I  was  compelled  to  sell  papers  on 
the  street,  to  sing  songs,  to  beg  at  times. 
Finally,  I  was  put  into  a  variety  theatre. 
Then,  this  man  came  along.  I  suppose  he 
gave  money  to  my  step-mother.  She  whipped 
me,  and  compelled  me  to  marry  him;  but, 
somehow,  after  the  ceremony,  while  they 
were  in  the  midst  of  their  drunken  revels,  I 
escaped.  I  got  on  board  the  cars,  and 
begged  my  way  West.  I  feared  that  he  was 
on  my  track,  pursuing  me  like  a  relentless 
hound.  I  went  farther  and  farther.  I 
crossed  the  plains.  I  crept  up  among  the 
mountains.  I  came  at  length  to  Golden 
Throne  as  little  Pete.  I  saw  him  that  night 
when  I  fled.  You  know  the  rest.  Well,  I 
came  to  this  city.  I  had  heard  from  my 
father  of  an  elder  brother,  living  here  some- 
where. His  name  was  William  Kennedy. 
He  was  much  older,  and  had  come  to  Cali- 
fornia when  ray  father  was  a  little  boy; 
and  so  for  years  they  were  separated,  and 
almost  forgot  each  other.  I  presume,  on 
some  accounts,  there  was  little  sympathy 
between  them;  for  Uncle  William  was  a 
thorough-going  business  man,  and  would 
have  no  regard  for  the  vagrant  genius  of 
my  father.  I  tried  to  find  this  uncle  on  my 
arrival  in  the  city.  Thanks  to  the  gold  you 
gave  me,  I  was  enabled  to  do  so  with  com. 
parative  ease.  I  found  him  living  in  this 
elegant  house.  He  was  a  bachelor,  and 
quite  aged.  He  had  no  one  to  care  for,  and 
greeted  -me  as  if  I  were  his  daughter.  My 
identity  was  soon  established,  and  he  made 
me  his  heir.  A  few  months  ago,  he  died; 
and  now  I  am  mistress  of  this  mansion  and 
of  wealth  that  I  really  cannot  count." 

"  This  is  indeed  a  fairy  tale,"  said  Char- 
lie.   "And  this  is  little  Pete,— that  little 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


77 


devil,  as  we  used  to  call  him.  You  did  look 
funny,  no  mistake,  with  that  scared  expres- 
sion and  silent  ways.  Well,  it's  lucky  I 
didn't  let  'em  hang  you.  I  don't  know  what 
made  me  interfere  so  desperately, —  a  mere 
whim,  I  suppose.  Another  time,  perhaps, 
I'd  let  things  go.  You  see  we  get  awful 
rough  and  cruel  in  this  country." 

"  I  see  that,  yet  there's  much  good  that 
shines  out.  Even  Big  Dick  had  some  genu- 
ine good  feeling.  He  had  a  spite  against 
me  though ;  but  I  guess,  if  he  should  see  me 
now,  he'd  soften  a  little,  wouldn't  he?"  said 
Blanche,  with  a  ringing  laugh. 

"I  think  he  would.  But  he's  married, 
and  it  wouldn't  do  any  good  for  you  to  capt- 
ure him.  You  look  high  now,  of  course, — 
a  lord  or  a  duke  or  a  millionnaire,  at  least." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  I  have  had  all  I  want 
of  poverty  and  disgrace,  and  now  I  am  going 
to  look  high  and  keep  high.  I'm  going  to 
take  the  best  man  that  comes  along." 

"  You  can  have  your  pick,"  said  Charlie, 
disconsolately.  "  I  came  to  seek  my  fortune. 
I  have  lost  it  already,  for  a  thousand  are 
ahead  of  me." 

"  I  told  you  little  Pete  could  play.  Listen 
and  hear  if  he  can't,"  said  Blanche. 

She  ran  to  the  piano  as  gracefully  as  a 
fawn,  and  sat  down,  and  the  music  sparkled 
forth  like  a  fountain.  The  swift  notes 
glided  on  in  perfect  harmony.  Then  she 
sang,  and  her  rich  voice  expressed  the  very 
spirit  of  the  song.  There  was  nothing  for- 
mal about  her,  though  she  was  so  elegantly 
attired.  She  was  animated  by  a  beautiful 
and,  in  some  respects,  extraordinary  genius. 
She  inherited  her  father's  literary  and  poetic 
faculty,  with  much  more  steadiness  of  char- 
acter, which  came  from  her  mother's  side. 
Her  eyes  sparkled  with  liquid  brilliancy, 
like  the  splendor  of  wine.  They  flashed 
with  a  thousand  changing  expressions,  for 
her  spirit  was  responsive  to  all  the  influences 
of  the  varying  hour. 

"Listen  to  me,"  she  said,  "while  I  sing 
you  a  song.  I  wrote  it  myself.  The  music 
is  an  old  Scottish  melody  that  I  picked 
up." 


She  sang :  — 

"  Love  tosses  on  a  darkling  sea, 
Where  wild  winds  breathe  their  melody. 
The  rolling  billows  give  no  rest: 
Love  finds  the  same  within  its  breast; 
And  so  it  yearns  for  some  sweet  shore, 
Where  life  shall  bloom  for  evermore. 

"  Love  like  a  pilgrim  roams  afar, 
And  watches  every  changing  star, 
And  gathers  every  radiant  flower, 
And  sees  it  fade  with  summer's  hour; 
And  so  it  yearns  for  that  deep  home 
Where  nothing  fades  and  naught  doth  roam." 

"  You  see  it  doesn't  amount  to  much,  but  I 
wrote  to  suit  myself;  and  it's  nobody's  busi- 
ness how  poorly  I  write.  I  enjoy  the  privi- 
lege all  to  myself.  Do  you  think  you  can 
remember  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlie,  "  as  long  as  I  live." 

"I'll  warrant  you'll  forget  them.  Come, 
sing  them  with  me,  and  perhaps  you  won't 
forget  them  until  day  after  to-morrow.  If 
you  keep  them  so  long,  I  shall  feel  quite 
honored." 

Charlie  sang  the  song  with  her  and  others 
also ;  and  the  golden  moments  flew,  and  dan- 
gerous moments  they  were  to  Charlie's  peace 
of  mind. 

After  a  while,  she  jumped  up. 

"  I  said  little  Pete  could  paint.  Look 
here."  And  she  showed  some  brilliant  land- 
scapes full  of  color,  and  flowers  deftly  painted 
on  plates  and  frames  and  screens.  Evidently, 
she  could  handle  the  brush  with  fine  skill. 

It  was  all  a  wonder  to  Charlie.  He  drifted 
along  the  dazzling  stream  of  love,  though 
he  felt  every  moment  as  if  he  should  go  tum- 
bling over  some  cataract.  It  was  utterly 
foolish  to  think  for  a  moment  that  such  a 
brilliant  and  fortunate  woman  would  ever 
consent  to  be  the  wife  of  one  who  could  offer 
her  scarcely  anything  in  the  way  of  wealth 
or  position  or  talent.  Charlie  had  very  lit- 
tle faith  in  his  own  ability.  He  looked  upon 
himself  as  a  very  ordinary  man,  and  made 
no  pretensions  to  excellence  of  any  sort ;  and 
he  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  that  he  could 
present  anything  to  Blanche  that  would  win 
her  to  his  side. 

"It  seems  to  me  you  are  looking  rather 


78 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


melancholy,"  said  Blanche,  as  the  hands  of 
the  old-fashioned  clock  in  the  corner  began 
to  creep  toward  twelve. 

"I  am  melancholy,"  said  Charlie.  "It's 
almost  time  to  go." 

"No  matter  about  that.  You  can  call 
again." 

"  I  don't  know  about  it,"  said  Charlie.  "  I 
have  a  notion  to  start  off  to-morrow  and 
sail  round  the  world." 

"  That's  a  curious  freak.  What  better 
can  you  do  than  stay  here  ?  " 

"No  better  perhaps,  but  then  I  shall  be 
wiser." 

"  Are  you  not  wise  enough  now  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  a  fool." 

"  A  frank  confession.  I  will  never  admit 
as  much." 

"  That's  kind  of  you ;  but,  if  I  stay,  I  shall 
flutter  like  the  moth  about  the  candle,  and 
then  perish." 

"  You  needn't  fall  into  the  flame." 

"  Of  course  not,  but  all  the  same  I  shall ; 
and  then  you'll  call  me  a  fool." 

"  That  depends.  I  don't  know  just  exactly 
what  you  mean." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  begging  your  pardon :  you 
know  that  I  love  you.  And  what's  the 
use  of  my  loving  you?  For  my  love  is 
no  mere  stream:  it's  my  whole  being.  I 
cannot  play  with  you.  I  cannot  flirt  with 
you.  I  cannot  touch  you  lightly,  as  I  would 
the  flower.  I  love  you  madly,  deeply.  You 
have  conquered  me,  and  I  am  your  slave. 
What  hope  is  there  for  me?  You  are  a 
queen,  rich,  honored,  with  genius  to  bless 
and  the  world  at  your  feet.  I  am  nothing 
but  a  poor  miner.  I  cannot  help  you  as  I 
once  did.  I  am  glad  that  I  had  that  chance, 
but  it's  over  now.  You  are  above  me,  be- 
yond me,  strong,  beautiful  as  a  star.  Yet 
you  burn  me  with  your  radiance.  I  feel 
that  I  must  escape.  When  there  is  no  hope 
in  love,  then  all  one  can  do  is  to  flee." 

"Why  need  you  flee?  Why  not  hope? 
True,  I  have  many  of  the  world's  noblest  at 
my  feet,  men  that  I  admire ;  but  can  you  not 
think  that  I  look  back  into  memory,  that  I 
see  myself  a  poor,  weak  child  in  danger, 


ready  to  perish  amid  rude,  rough  mon  ?  Do 
I  not  see  one  at  the  risk  of  his  life  defend 
me,  facing  the  imperious  crowd  alone  ?  Do 
I  not  see  him  conquer  that  crowd  and  bring 
them  to  regard  justice  ;  and,  when  innocence 
is  on  trial,  he  alone  still  believes  that  inno- 
cence, and  in  the  simple  strength  of  his 
manhood  pours  forth  the  burning  eloquence 
that  takes  captive  every  heart.  And  when 
that  eloquence  has  done  its  work  and  the 
captive  is  for  a  moment  free,  like  a  flutter- 
ing bird,  do  I  not  see  him  still  cling  to  that 
forsaken  child,  bearing  it  through  night  and 
day  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  then,  with  the 
courage  of  a  hero,  facing  death  for  the  sake 
of  that  little  one?  Do  you  think  amid  all 
this  gilded  throng  I  can  meet  a  more  noble, 
a  more  gifted,  a  more  heroic  one  ?  Do  you 
think  I  worship  wealth  or  position?  Alasl 
I  have  seen  too  much  misery  to  care  for 
that.  I  want  manhood,  a  strong  spirit, 
wherein  my  woman's  soul  can  rest  like  the 
halcyon  in  the  bosom  of  the  summer's  sea. 
And  can  you  not  see  that  this  brave,  strong 
man,  that  I  have  pictured  out  of  m'y  heart's 
memory,  is  perhaps  a  bit  of  a  coward  that 
he  does  not  go  forward  and  possess  that 
which  requires  not  wealth  or  power,  but 
simply  the  dauntless  soul ;  for,  though  woman 
may  love,  she  will  not  speak  her  love,  but 
waits  for  man  to  claim  it,  not  as  a  slave,  but 
as  a  king?  I  wonder  that  men  act  so. 
Why  are  they  afraid  of  a  weak  woman's 
heart?  I  wouldn't  be  afraid.  O  what 
dunces  men  are  I  They  don't  understand 
anything." 

Poor  Charlie!  Alternate  hope  and  de- 
spair swept  over  him.  He  couldn't  make 
out  whether  she  was  in  earnest  or  not.  He 
could  not  realize  that  she  loved  him.  At 
length,  with  desperate  resolution,  he  ad- 
vanced and  drew  her  to  his  bosom.  She  did 
not  retreat.  She  was  folded  in  his  warm 
embrace. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  said  he,  as  he  looked  at 
her  glowing  face,  as  he  kissed  her  beautiful 
eyes  and  cheeks  and  lustrous  lips.  "  Do  you 
love  me  ?  " 

She    placed    her  arms    about   his  neck, 


GOLDEN    THRONE. 


79 


stroked  his  brow  and  cheek,  drew  his  face 
close  to  hers,  and  touched  his  mouth  with 
the  ruby  fire  of  her  own. 

"  1  do  love  you  dearly,"  she  said.  "  You 
are  my  hero." 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  How  strange  it  seems,"  said  Paddie, 
when  Charlie  had  told  the  whole  story,  "  that 
such  a  weird  little  fellow  should  turn  out  to 
be  a  brilliant  woman !  What  a  lucky  man 
you  are ! " 

"It  makes  me  tremble,  when  I  think  it 
over,"  said  Charlie.  "I  can  hardly  realize 
that  she's  safe  now." 

"  To  be  sure  that  she  is,  we'll  call  over," 
said  Will. 

Blanche  was  glad  to  see  them,  and  they 
talked  about  old  times. 

"Here  are  the  tramp's  papers  that  we 
found  dead,"  said  Charlie.  "  You  may  find 
them  of  worth." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  look  at  them,"  said 
Blanche. 

"Nevertheless,  I  would,"  said  Charlie. 
"  They  may  reveal  something." 

"  Then,  of  course,  I  must  read  them,"  said 
Blanche;  "for  I  have  a  woman's  curiosity. 
By  the  way,  it's  so  funny.  Gooch  called 
this  morning.  He  didn't  know  me,  though, 
—  that  is,  he  didn't  seem  to.  He  might 
have  guessed  it,  and  kept  it  to  himself.  He 
showed  me  a  paper  in  which  there  was  an 
advertisement  for  Ralph  Kennedy  or  his 
heirs.  It  must  mean  my  father  or  grand- 
father. Gooch  said  he'd  look  it  up.  I  won- 
der why  he  takes  so  much  interest?  " 

"  That's  worth  considering.  You  may  be 
sure  the  deacon  wouldn't  do  anything  for 
your  sake.  He  thinks  there's  a  plum  for 
him,  somewhere.  I  guess  I'll  look  into  the 
matter  along  with  him." 

The  next  day  when  Charlie  called,  Blanche 
burst  excitedly  forth :  — 

"I've  found  it  out.  It's  wonderful  and 
most  wonderful.  I've  examined  the  papers 
left  by  —  that  man,"  she  said,  shuddering. 
"  I  see  now  why  he  married  me  and  followed 
me  to  Golden  Throne,  and  what  his  scheme 


was.  I'm  heir  to  some  property  in  England, — 
how  much,  I  don't  know.  Gooch  has  got 
track  of  the  same  thing,  but  we  don't  need 
his  help.  I  wonder  how  he  happened  to 
know  about  it." 

"  There's  nothing  in  the  money  line  but 
he'll  find  out,  sooner  or  later,"  said  Charlie. 
"  No  doubt,  he'll  quote  Scripture,  and  try  to 
get  a  hand  in  your  fortune." 

"  His  Scripture  didn't  save  me  from  hang- 
ing, and  I  don't  think  it  will  give  him  any 
of  my  fortune." 

The  three  friends  were  sauntering  over 
the  city,  when  all  at  once  Paddie  burst 
forth,— 

"  There's  a  familiar  face.  I  wonder  who  it 
can  be  ?  " 

It  was  a  clean-looking  and  rotund  grocery 
clerk  that  they  saw,  busy  as  a  bee,  keeping 
the  store  he  tended  in  nice  order,  and  appar- 
ently as  happy  as  a  lark.  His  hair  was  cut 
short,  his  cheeks  were  full  and  rosy.  lie 
looked  at  Paddie  and  Charlie  and  Will,  his 
eyes  twinkled,  and  then  he  burst  into  a 
merry  laugh. 

"By  Jupiter!"  said  Paddie,  "I  can  hardly 
believe  my  eyes ;  but  that's  the  Rev.  William 
Theophilus  Pippins." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  jolly  gro- 
cery clerk,  with  another  cachinnation.  "Not 
the  Rev.  William  Theophilus  Pippins,  he's 
dead,  but  Billy  Pippins,  at  your  service. 
Will  you  take  some  cabbage,  gentlemen, — 
the  best  in  the  market, —  or  beets  or  tur- 
nips?" 

"  Whence  this  transformation  ?  "  said  Pad- 
die.  "  The  last  time  I  saw  you,  you  were  as 
melancholy  as  a  gip  cat.  Now,  you  are  fat 
and  fair.  What  in  the  name  of  nature  has 
happened  to  you?  " 

"That's  just  what's  happened,  and  nothing 
more,"  said  Pippins,  laughing  harder  than 
ever.  "  That  last  shot  of  Ingersoll  tumbled 
us  from  grace  to  nature,  and  here  I  am, 
Billy  Pippins.  Bobbins  got  converted,  too, 
and  weighs  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds. 
He's  a  farmer  now,  getting  on  splendidly, 
and  he  swears  by  Ingersoll." 

"Really,  I  congratulate  you.      Why,  the 


80 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


last  time  I  saw  you,  you  were  long-haired 
and  lean,  and  looked  as  if  you  had  gone  to 
seed  generally ;  and  now  you  are  fresh  and 
happy  and  active,  and  doing  the  world  some 
good." 

"  That's  my  honest  purpose,"  said  Pippins. 
"  I  was  a  fool  to  study  that  confounded  the- 
ology, and  starve  myself  almost  to  death. 
That  was  a  square  shot  of  Ingersoll.  It 
just  set  us  to  thinking.  Bobbins  was  rav- 
ing for  a  while,  but  he  couldn't  get  the  ideas 
out  of  his  head.  Finally,  he  caved  in. 
Since  then,  he's  been  happy.  I  followed 
suit.  You  ought  to  see  Bobbins.  He'll 
give  you  a  welcome  grip." 

"  We  must  visit  him,"  said  Paddie.  "  Take 
a  vacation,  Billy,  and  we'JJ  start  to-morrow." 

"I'll  be  ready,"  said  Pippins,  and  with 
that  he  went  gayly  off  to  wait  upon  some 
new  customer. 

"I'll  be  blowed,"  said  Paddie,  "if  this 
isn't  about  the  funniest,  to  think  that  a  lank 
theological  student  has  turned  out  to  be  a 
decent  grocery  clerk.  What  a  salvation  for 
him  !  Hurrah  for  Bobbins  !  " 

"Hurrah  again!"  said  Charlie.  "After 
the  old  style,  we'll  call  him  a  'miracle  of 
grace,'  '  snatched  as  a  brand  from  the  burn- 
ing.' Once  he  was  a  poor  devil  of  an  elder, 
now  he  is  a  respectable  digger  of  the  soil. 
That  kind  of  regeneration  is  good  for  some- 
thing." 

"  By  the  way,  we  must  drop  in  on  Jimmy. 
Now's  the  time.  I  guess  he's  finished  his 
morning  devotions,  and  is  ready  for  a  little 
philosophy." 

They  found  Jimmy,  or  Demorest,  quietly 
smoking,  having  just  waded  through  some 
ponderous  commentaries. 

"I  can't  find  much  sense  in  them,"  said 
he ;  "  but  I  have  to  fix  things  up  somehow, 
be  reasonable  and  at  the  same  time  Biblical, 
but  I  have  to  sweat  to  do  it.  We  ministers 
who  have  a  grain  of  sense  have  a  hard  time. 
We  are  continually  bothered." 

"I  don't  understand  about  your  going 
into  the  ministry,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  thought 
you  were  as  liberal  as  we." 

"  I  am.    I  can't  believe  these  old  doctrines, 


but  I  must  do  something.  I  can't  lie  idle.  1 
am  so  constituted  that,  if  I  don't  express 
myself  in  the  pulpit,  I  can't  express  myself 
anywhere.  I  must  be  dumb,  and  what  talent 
I  have  goes  to  waste." 

"  Can't  you  write  ?  Can't  you  go  into  liter- 
ature, or  lecture,  or  start  a  liberal  church  ?  " 

"  No.  I  should  make  a  dismal  failure  of 
all  these  things.  I  haven't  talent  enough 
for  literature,  where  the  best  minds  in  the 
world  are  engaged.  Really,  I  haven't  a 
particle  of  originality.  I  can't  create.  I 
can  simply  express.  Lecturing  is  played 
out.  Only  the  most  powerful  or  fortunate 
men  can  succeed  there.  If  I  start  a  liberal 
church,  I  am  just  as  much  bound  as  I  am 
now.  I  must  satisfy  all  sorts  of  hobbies  and 
whims,  and  make  pretences  and  be  hypo- 
critical. I  might  just  as  well  be  a  Methodist 
as  undertake  to  do  any  of  this  half-way 
work.  The  fact  is,  I  am  a  child  of  feeling  ; 
and  the  past  has  a  wondrous  power  over  my 
heart.  1  cannot  tell  you  how  I  am  thrilled 
by  the  old  songs  and  ceremonies.  They 
possess  me  like  a  spell.  Don't  blame  me 
because  I  preach.  I  do  it  to  find  some  ex- 
pression for  my  passionate  heart,  to  pour 
forth  my  longings,  my  hopes,  my  dreams, 
and  thus,  if  possible,  to  serve  men.  Believe 
me,  I  do  not  do  it  with  a  selfish  motive. 
You  know  I  am  not  a  hypocrite.  I  work  in 
sad  sincerity,  chained  and  galled,  yet  feeling 
there  is  no  other  way  to  do.  Oh  that  these 
creeds  were  dead  and  buried,  and  that,  free 
as  the  air  itself,  I  could  pour  forth  the  ideals 
of  my  soul." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  the  doctrines?" 

"  I  let  them  alone.  I  forget  them.  I  preach 
nothing  but  simple  humanity,  love,  good- 
will, reverence,  and  work.  My  audiences  are 
delighted.  They  don't  want  any  theology, 
though  they  won't  let  me  deny  theology ;  and 
that  is  the  curse  of  my  position, —  to  profess 
faith  in  what  neither  I  nor  my  congregation 
wish  to  hear  a  word  about,  and  yet  dare  not 
disown." 

"Isn't  this  a  living  lie?" 

"Yes  and  no.  It  is  either  this  way  of 
speaking  or  eternal  silence  on  my  part,  and 


GOLDEN    THBONE. 


81 


that  is  worse  than  death.  I  long  for  utter- 
ance, I  delight  in  speech;  and  yet,  to  win 
the  power  of  speech,  to  pour  forth  what  is 
grandest,  I  must  chain  myself  to  that  which 
I  think  contemptible.  Jt  is  not  hypocrisy 
or  lying:  it  is  terrible  martyrdom.  Don't 
blame  a  thousand  ministers  who  are  work- 
ing and  cursing  as  I  am,  and  yet,  in  the 
midst  of  all,  are  striving  to  be  manly. 
Come!  I'll  introduce  you  to  Hilly,  my 
wife.  If  it  were  not  for  her,  I  could  do 
nothing." 

Milly  was  a  surpassing  woman,  a  perfect 
little  poem.  There  was  nothing  stiff  or 
angular  about  her.  She  flowed  in  liquid 
beauty  like  a  fountain.  Her  eyes  were  soft 
and  bright,  her  voice  beautiful.  She  was 
not  in  any  sense  a  thinker :  she  was  simply 
an  artist.  She  lived  in  the  world  of  emo- 
tion. She  was  orthodox,  simply  because 
born  so.  She  had  no  logical  capacity  to  go 
from  it  any  more  than  a  child.  She  simply 
believed  as  she  had  been  taught,  and  that 
ended  the  whole  matter.  She  had  always 
regularly  attended  church,  but  the  sermon 
generally  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the 
other.  She  supposed  it  was  all  right,  and 
that  satisfied  her.  She  hadn't  much  of  any 
experience  to  relate.  She  took  it  for  granted 
that  she  was  a  sinner,  but  she  never  felt  very 
bad  about  it.  In  fact,  her  church  mem- 
bership and  theological  belief  hung  about 
her  like  a  suit  of  clothes  that  she  felt  obliged 
to  wear,  and  which  she  made  look  as  grace- 
ful as  possible.  Her  inner  life,  the  sub- 
stance of  her  being,  was  artistic,  poetic,  and 
not  intellectual.  She  delighted  in  the  culti- 
vation of  flowers,  in  the  arrangement  of 
color  and  form,  and  in  the  decoration  of  her 
rooms.  She  had,  withal,  a  good  musical 
skill,  and  could  fairly  interpret  the  best  com- 
positions of  the  masters;  and  this  was  no 
small  source  of  pride  and  pleasure  to  her 
husband. 

She  was,  indeed,  a  noble  woman,  full  of 
the  vitality  of  health  and  nature,  blooming 
in  the  midst  of  Orthodoxy  like  a  sweet 
flower  amid  Alpine  snows,  but  no  more 
the  result  of  Orthodoxy  than  the  flowers 


are  the  result  of  their  icy  surroundings. 
Orthodoxy,  harsh  and  rugged  as  it  is,  can- 
not altogether  crush  nature,  which  will  force 
itself  through  the  most  unfavorable  envi- 
ronments ;  and  thus  many  a  beautiful  char- 
acter flourishes  in  the  midst  of  its  desolate 
creeds,  not  because  of  its  creeds,  but  because 
underneath  them  is  the  ever-flowing  life  of 
the  universe,  which  will  manifest  itself  in 
all  times  and  places. 

Demorest  could  not  have  found  a  woman 
more  adapted  to  his  passionate  and  some- 
what weak  nature  than  Milly.  She  was  a 
perpetual  rest  and  stimulant  to  him.  I  do 
not  think  he  could  have  endured  the  painful 
restraint  of  his  position  but  for  her  genial 
spirit.  She  completely  satisfied  his  poetic 
being,  and  without  exciting  thought  stirred 
and  exalted  his  emotions. 

"  You  have  a  gem  of  a  wife,  indeed,"  said 
Paddie,  after  they  had  spent  an  hour  or  two 
in  her  delightful  company.  "  You  are  safe 
as  long  as  you  are  with  her.  She  will  keep 
you  fresh  and  natural  and  sincere  in  spite 
of  your  restraints.  You  take  your  text 
from  the  Bible,  but  I'll  bet  that  every  time 
you  preach  from  her  lips  and  eyes." 

"  I  do  that,"  said  Demorest.  "  The  text 
is  only  a  tumble-down  gate  that  I  pass 
through,  and  then  I  roam  through  the  green 
pastures  of  my  own  imagination,  and  Milly 
is  with  me;  and  that  is  the  way  I  preach 
my  sermons." 

"  That  is  why  people  like  them  so  well." 

"  Yet  I  can't  tell  them  the  secret.  I  must 
make  them  believe  that  I  get  my  material 
out  of  the  Scriptures,  when  I  get  it  out  of 
my  own  home  and  the  joys  of  my  own  heart. 
They  think  I  study  and  brood  over  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  Abraham  and  Moses,  and 
Jesus  and  Paul,  when  I  do  no  such  thing, 
but  look  at  my  flowers  and  the  eyes  of  Milly, 
and  listen  to  her  songs.  I  suppose  it  is 
necessary  for  some  to  have  this  sort  of  tradi- 
tional perspective,  but  it  is  a  roundabout 
way  of  getting  the  gospel  that  is  at  our  very 
feet." 

"I  should  think  you'd  sometimes  feel 
like  breaking  out  and  smashing  things." 


82 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


"I  do.  I  am  terribly  iconoclastic  at 
times.  I  fret  and  fume.  Then,  I  take  a 
smoke,  read  Bob  Ingersoll,  and  that  satisfies 
me,  and  I  wear  the  yoke.  Ingersoll,  you  see, 
is  vicariously  my  infidelity.  He  expresses 
what  I  want  expressed  in  my  supreme  mo- 
ments. Then,  I  come. back  to  commonplace, 
and  do  the  work  that  fate  seems  to  compel 
me  to  do.  I  really  couldn't  stand  it,  if  I 
didn't  get  a  breath  of  heaven  and  witness 
the  glory  from  the  mountain-top  by  reading 
this  arch  enemy  once  in  a  while." 

"  What  a  puzzle  the  whole  thing  is ! "  said 
Charlie.  "  Of  course,  if  it  was  a  mere  mat- 
ter of  the  head,  like  mathematics,  we  could 
straighten  things  out  at  once ;  but  I  realize 
what  an  unfathomable  force  the  human 
heart  is,  and,  having  wound  itself  about 
these  old  doctrines,  it  is  difficult  to  break 
away.  But  it  must  be  like  living  in  prison." 

"  It  is,"  said  Demorest ;  "  and  wildly  and 
rebelliously  I  break  against  these  bars,  and 
swear  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer.  Then,  I 
feel  weak  as  a  child ;  for  what  can  I  do 
against  this  enormous  power  of  custom? 
Why,  I  don't  even  dare  to  change  my  hat  or 
trousers,  much  less  can  I  change  my  creed." 

"  We  must  hear  you  speak  some  Sunday," 
said  Charlie. 

"I  don't  care  about  that.  It  would  dis- 
turb me  to  know  that  there  were  men  of 
thought  in  my  congregation,  for  I  don't 
preach  to  men  of  thought.  I  preach  simply 
to  the  sentiment.  I  have  no  thinkers  in  my 
pews,  though  I  have  judges  and  lawyers  and 
merchants  and  a  few  doctors,  and  shoals  of 
fashionable  women;  but  they  don't  think, 
and  they  don't  want  to  think  while  in  the 
church,  and  I  don't  try  to  make  them  think. 
If  I  did,  I  should  cease  to  be  eloquent." 

"  But,  depending  so  much  on  pure  feeling, 
I  should  think  sometimes  you'd  exhaust  the 
fountain;  for,  unless  feeling  can  be  fed  by 
thought,  it  runs  dry." 

"I  do  feel  like  a  vacuum  sometimes,  ut- 
terly empty,  a  very  shadow.  I  can't  describe 
the  horrible  sensation.  Everything  becomes 
an  unreality.  I  flee  from  my  congregation, 
and  I  would  fain  bury  myself  in  the  sea. 


My  only  resource  is  Milly.  I  have  her  plaj 
the  piano  or  talk  to  me,  or  show  me  some  of 
her  pretty  work.  Fortunately,  she  does  not 
think.  If  she  did,  she  would  drive  me  crazy. 
She  never  troubles  me  with  any  theological 
puzzles,  nor  seems  conscious  of  any  dogmas. 
She  simply  pictures.  Her  world  is  the  world 
of  beauty.  Through  beauty  only  does  she 
express  truth.  I  drink,  and  forget  the  stern 
demands  of  the  intellect.  What  more  can 
I  do?" 

"We  must  judge  for  ourselves,"  said  Will. 
"  I  couldn't  act  as  you  do,  but  I  admit  that 
my  nature  is  different.  I  suppose  with 
many  there  must  be  some  sort  of  compro- 
mise ;  and  yet,  when  you  compromise,  where 
are  you  to  draw  the  line  ?  I  prefer  to  draw 
the  line  at  where  I  see  the  absolute  truth, 
and  go  no  further.  Possibly,  you  and  the 
thousands  of  ministers  that  are  thinking 
and  acting  like  you  are  doing  some  good  in 
a  certain  way,  making  people  happy;  and 
yet  we  know  not  what  subtle  corruption  is 
going  on  as  the  result  of  this  deception,  how 
all  the  fibres  of  manhood  are  being  weak- 
ened. Beauty  is  indeed  of  supreme  impor- 
tance, and  yet  is  not  truth  the  first  step  to 
beauty  ?  However,  I  won't  preach ;  for  I 
know  that  one's  destiny  is  woven  out  of  his 
temperament.  He  must  work  through  what 
he  is,  and  not  simply  through  what  he 
sees." 

"  I  can't  solve  it,"  said  Demorest.  "  The 
more  I  think,  the  less  I  seem  to  know.  It 
is  impossible  in  any  circumstances  to  carry 
out  our  ideal.  We  can't  be  absolutely  sin- 
cere, and  who  can  tell  what  the  truth  is? 
Where  shall  we  begin,  inside  or  outside? 
Why  waste  time  in  endless  thought?  I 
want  to  do  something ;  and,  in  order  to  do 
something,  I  must  make  believe." 

"Take  your  chances  then,"  said  Paddie. 
"I'm  glad  you  are  in  love.  There's  no 
make-believe  about  that.  There,  at  least, 
you  are  absolutely  sincere,  and  can  save  your 
manhood.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by.  I'll  smoke  and  go  to  bed,  get 
up  and  hear  the  lark  sing  and  see  the 
flowers;  but  I  won't  spend  a  moment  on 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


83 


theology,  though  it  is  the  skeleton  in  my 
closet." 

"How  many  a  man,"  said  Paddie  to 
Charlie  and  Will,  as  they  walked  home,  "  is 
bothered,  perplexed,  and  half  a  man,  like 
Jimmy,  unable  to  use  their  nature  to  the 
utmost.  It  is  the  jbragedy  of  many  a  life. 
He  is  fortunate,  because  he  has  a  love  that 
fills  his  soul  and  from  whence  he  can  work ; 
but,  without  Milly,  he  would  be  a  wreck 
again,  I  fear." 

"  Love  is  the  real  religion  of  the  universe," 
said  Will.  "Jimmy  has  that,  and  so  far 
he's  safe.  Love  and  truth  work  together, 
even  though  they  seem  to  clash." 

"  We'll  find  our  good  friend  Bobbins  to- 
morrow. He's  jumped  the  fence  entirely. 
Let's  see  what  kind  of  clover  he's  in.  Char- 
lie, bid  good-by  to  Blanche  for  one  day." 

"  111  just  go  now  and  do  it,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Gooch  was  here  again  to-day,"  cried 
Blanche,  "and  made  all  sorts  of  inquiries. 
I  don't  like  him.  I  wish  he'd  keep  away. 
I  think  him  capable  of  some  great  villany. 
I  think  he  has  the  very  devil's  look." 

"  He  can't  touch  you,  even  if  he  were  the 
devil." 

"  I  dread  him.  I  shrink  from  him  with  a 
strange  horror.  I  hate  his  basilisk  eyes." 

"  Don't  see  him  again,  then." 

"I  won't." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  plan  to  start  for 
England  and  settle  your  family  affairs?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"  You'll  want  somebody  to  help,  and  so 
I'll  go  along  in  the  capacity  of  a  husband." 

"  How  kind  you  are,  sir  1 "  said  she,  coquet- 
tishly.  "  Do  you  think  I  will  consent  ?  " 

"  I  think  nothing.     I  only  hope." 

"  How  submissive !  I'm  mistress  now,  but 
I  fear  you'll  be  master  when  I  say  '  yes.' " 

"  True  love  seeks  not  mastery,  only  ser- 
vice." 

"  Then  I  accept  your  service,  and  let  me 
be  mistress;  for  I  can  serve  better  that 
way." 

"  I  believe  it.  By  submitting,  I  have  more 
than  by  commanding." 


"  How  wise  you  are.  Where  did  you  learn 
all  this?" 

"  In  the  Book  of  Love." 

It  was  settled  that  next  week  they  should 
start  for  England. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

WHAT  a  beautiful  day  it  was !  The  sun 
filled  the  air  with  a  soft  and  golden  light 
that  sparkled  along  the  grass,  touched  the 
trees,  and  flushed  the  clouds  by  the  horizon 
with  many  a  hue.  Who  can  describe  the 
flowers,  the  wealth  of  flowers,  that  spread 
about  the  travellers  like  a  sea,  with  all  col- 
ors, dashing  and  clashing  in  endless  billows? 
It  was  the  spring  of  the  year,  voluptuous 
and  intense;  and  heaven  and  earth  shone 
with  the  brilliancy  of  a  fresh  creation. 

Light  laughter  filled  the  air,  for  every  one 
felt  the  glowing  impulse  of  the  day.  Over 
the  plain  they  went,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
thousand  varied  splendors  that  met  their 
view,  the  signs  of  growth  and  opulence  and 
power.  The  mighty  wheat  fields  reached 
far  as  the  eye  could  see,  and  tossed  and 
rolled  in  a  profusion  of  verdant  waves. 
Bobbins'  house,  unpretending  but  neatly 
kept,  surrounded  with  massive  barns,  was  in 
the  midst  of  these  richly  laden  lands.  Bob- 
bins was  hardly  recognizable  by  the  jolly 
crowd,  such  a  change  had  passed  over  him, — 
he  was  so  fat  and  sleek  and  comfortable. 
Every  trace  of  the  "  miserable  sinner  "  had 
disappeared.  He  was  no  longer  dilapidated. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  a  "walking  sepul- 
chre," he  did  not  advertise  the  world  as  a 
"  dim  vast  vale  of  tears."  Hell-fire  was  no 
longer  at  his  tongue's  end.  When  he  dis- 
covered who  were  his  guests,  he  was  most 
cordial.  A  broad  grin  lighted  up  his  whole 
face.  In  a  great,  loud  voice,  he  said :  — 

"  Come  in.  I've  got  something  good  for  ye. 
It's  most  dinner-time.  Pippins,  you  grow  fat- 
ter and  rounder  every  time  I  see  you." 

"  I  guess  I  do,  and  I  mean  to  keep  it  up. 
I  just  enjoy  this  world,  and  I  mean  to  put 
as  many  square  inches  into  it  as  possible. 
The  more,  the  better." 


84 


GOLDEN   THKONE. 


"  It  does  one  good  to  see  you  looking  so 
plump,"  said  Paddie.  "  You  are  bigger  than 
all  your  commentaries  put  together.  You 
must  have  swallowed  them." 

"  I  didn't  swallow  them.  I  burned  them. 
They  were  so  dry  that  they  made  good  kind- 
ling wood." 

"How  did  ever  this  come  about?"  said 
Paddie.  "  You  looked  like  a  hardened  saint, 
so  thoroughly  elected  for  the  other  world 
that  I  never  thought  you  would  be  a  candi- 
date for  this ;  and  here  you  are  in  flesh  and 
blood." 

"  I  fought  it  out  as  long  as  I  could.  I'd 
got  so  fitted  to  theology  that  I  didn't  see 
how  I  could  live  without  it.  I  thought  I 
must  have  a  sort  of  celestial  machinery,  but 
that  answer  of  Ingersoll  knocked  it  clean 
out  of  my  head.  I  couldn't  get  round  it.  I 
squirmed  mightily.  But  conviction  tussled 
with  me,  and  I  yielded.  I  said  to  Common- 
sense  :  I  give  myself  up  to  you  without  re- 
serve. 1  hold  nothing  back.  What  you 
teach  I  will  believe ;  and,  if  need  be,  I  will 
leave  all  and  follow  you.  The  moment  I 
said  that,  I  was  happy,  I  could  see  things 
straight.  I  was  free  to  all  the  universe,  and 
it  did  seem  as  if  everything  had  a  new  color. 
Like  a  child,  I  began  again,  and  reason  has 
led  me  into  smooth  and  pleasant  paths.  I 
don't  know  much,  but  what  I  do  know  I  find 
very  useful.  Just  look  at  my  farm,  my 
stock,  my  barns.  I  get  enjoyment  out  of 
these  every  day  that  beats  theology  all 
hollow." 

Bobbins  did  look  happy,  and  no  mistake, 
—  a  bluff,  hearty  fellow,  browned  with  toil, 
strong,  and  healthful. 

"  You  have  been  wonderfully  prospered," 
said  Paddie.  "  You  were  a  poor  devil,  when 
we  saw  you  before.  Now,  you  are  rich. 
Your  own  toil  is  not  the  secret  of  all 
this?" 

"  No.  It's  a  miracle,  partly.  The  very 
moment  I  became  an  infidel,  I  had  good 
luck.  An  uncle  of  mine  was  somewhat 
sceptical,  and  left  some  books  that  I  never 
dared  to  read.  When  I  threw  the  Bible 
aside,  I  overhauled  them,  and  read  Paine  the 


first  thing ;  and  what  do  you  think  I  found 
there?" 

"  Truth,  I  s'pose,  and  courage." 

"Yes,  and  besides  a  lot  of  mining  stock 
certificates  tucked  away  in  the  book,  the 
property  of  my  uncle.  I,  being  his  heir, 
they  fell  to  me.  I  didn't  know  whether 
they  were  worth  anything ;  but,  when  I  took 
them  to  market,  I  found  'em  booming.  I 
sold  at  a  high  price,  and  bought  this  farm ; 
and  all  because  I  read  Tom  Paine  just  in 
the  nick  of  time." 

"  Put  that  down.  We'll  call  it  a  miracle. 
Do  you  grow  in  grace  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  do,  in  the  right  sort.  I  can't 
describe  the  perfect  wonder  with  which  I 
have  read  Paine.  He  is  such  a  marvellous 
writer,  so  weighty  and  keen.  His  sen- 
tences ring  through  me  like  a  trumpet. 
He's  so  pat,  not  a  word  wasted ;  and 
withal  there's  such  a  moral  force,  such  ele- 
vation of  sentiment!  How  infinitely  he 
transcends  the  miserable  crowd  of  minis- 
ters that  bay  at  him  and  try  to  cover  him 
with  the  filth  of  their  imagination  1  He  is 
like  a  mountain  of  snow  touching  the  heav- 
ens, while  they  are  like  the  crawling  ser- 
pents." 

"You  feel  that  you  have  come  out  of 
darkness  into  light?  " 

"  I  guess  I  do !  It's  no  comparison  !  I 
was  in  a  cave  before,  and  was  an  eyeless  fish. 
I  can  truly  say,  I  was  once  blind,  but  now 
I  see.  The  books  I  read  are  a  series  of  sur- 
prising revelations.  I've  read  Parker  some, 
and  Emerson ;  and  it  seems  as  if  I  was  roam- 
ing through  a  new  world  packed  with  pre- 
cious jewels.  There's  a  Down-East,  queer 
sort  of  fellow  I'veTiappened  across, —  Tho- 
reau.  He  comes  right  from  nature,  right 
from  the  trees  and  the  rocks  and  the  wa- 
ters ;  and  how  keenly  he  describes !  Then, 
I've  a  few  sermons  here  by  Frothmgham, 
and  some  by  Chadwick  and  Savage ;  and  I 
revel  in  them  as  I  would  in  nuggets  of  gold, 
—  such  fresh,  broad,  beautiful  views  of  man, 
of  the  universe,  of  what  we  are,  despite  our 
ignorance  of  whence  we  came  or  whither  we 
are  going  1  I  do  wish  every  Christian  could 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


85 


know  what  a  fool  he  is  and  how  much  he 
loses  by  believing  those  old  wives'  tales." 

"  Why  don't  you  turn  missionary  and 
preach  to  them  ?  " 

"That's  not  my  forte.  I'd  rather  work. 
I  just  like  to  dig.  I  like  to  be  among  cat- 
tle and  horses  and  the  pigs.  I  enjoy  the 
life  that  is  in  them,  and  believe  that  labor 
is  the  great  reformer  of  the  world." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Paddle.  "Still, 
thought  is  necessary,  and  education.  There 
are  those  who  must  help  us  think  and  feel 
our  best.  Then,  work  becomes  most  noble : 
otherwise,  it  might  be  a  drudgery." 

"True,"  said  Farmer  Bobbins.  "Every 
man  to  his  taste;  and  now  for  dinner. 
Here's  my  wife,  friends;  and  here's  the 
table,  and  I  like  each  man  to  help  him- 
self." 

A  royal  dinner  they  had ;  for  a  royal  ap- 
petite they  had,  and  Mrs.  Bobbins  knew  a 
thing  or  two  about  cooking. 

"  Did  your  wife  get  converted  along  with 
you,  Bobbins,  and  join  the  Church  of  Hu- 
manity?" 

"Not  exactly.  She  clung  to  the  old  no- 
tions. I  didn't  argue  with  her.  I  told  her 
my  experience  with  Ingersoll.  She  laughed, 
but  said  nothing.  When  we  first  came  out 
here,  she  went  to  the  prayer-meetin'  pretty 
regular.  But  she  doesn't  go  now,  and  I 
notice  that  she  likes  to  read  my  books. 
You  know  women  want  to  have  their  own 
way  about  things,  and  she'll  convert  herself 
much  quicker  than  I  can." 

"Don't  the  ministers  try  to  convert 
you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  since  I've  got  rich.  They  didn't 
seem  to  care  about  it  before.  They  come 
here  by  shoals.  I  just  feed  them,  and  let 
them  go.  You  ought  to  see  them  feed.  It's 
fun.  Nobody  can  eat  like  a  minister:  he 
has  an  appetite  like  a  whale.  Why,  I  fre- 
quently cook  a  whole  chicken  for  some  poor 
devil  of  a  minister,  and  he  eats  it  all  up. 
Well,  it's  the  only  comfort  they  do  have  in 
this  world,  and  I  don't  blame  them  for 
making  the  most  of  it.  I  don't  begrudge 
any  minister  a  square  meal.  He  shall  have 


one  every  time  he  comes  here.  I  find  that's 
the  best  way  to  shut  his  mouth." 

Bobbins  showed  them  his  stock,  and  took 
them  through  his  waving  fields  of  grain,  with 
all  the  ardor  of  a  boy.  Pippins  enjoyed  his 
visit  to  the  utmost.  These  two  "saints" 
converted  into  "  sinners  "  made  a  very  enter- 
tainijg  couple.  It  was  a  constant  surprise 
to  them  that  there  was  so  much  enjoyment 
in  this  sphere,  independent  of  any  other. 
They  had  so  long  looked  upon  this  world  as 
a  dreary  spot  that,  when  they  found  what 
riches  it  contained,  they  were  almost  intoxi- 
cated with  delight.  It  was  like  a  couple  of 
starving  men  finding  a  rich  and  unexpected 
repast. 

"  What  a  happy  time  it  will  be,  when  the 
whole  world  is  saved  that  way ! "  said  Char- 
lie, as  they  went  back  to  the  city. 

"  Yes,  wake  up  and  get  rid  of  its  night- 
mare," said  Paddie.  "  I  suppose  this  good 
time  is  coming,  but  people  are  so  stupid." 

"It  may  come  all  at  once.  Who  would 
have  thought  that  Bobbins  would  have 
waked  up  and  gone  to  work  like  an  honest 
man  ?  I  can't  help  laughing,  when  I  think 
of  his  tussle  with  Ingersoll,  and  how  de- 
murely he  walked  away." 

"  We  really  expected  to  conquer,"  said 
Pippins.  "We  prayed  I  don't  know  how 
many  days  and  nights,  and  read  the  com- 
mentaries and  studied  Hebrew  till  our  heads 
ached.  We  thought  we  were  fully  armed 
and  equipped.  What  fools  we  were  !  We 
had  a  chain  of  argument  that  nobody  could 
get  round ;  but,  when  we  came  to  hitch  it, 
we  had  nothing  to  hitch  it  to,  and  there  is 
where  we  got  floored,  and  all  we  could  do 
was  to  lug  our  chain  back  again  and  hang 
ourselves.  But  we  did  better.  We  took  a 
new  start,  and  then  our  chain  of  logic  led 
us  right  where  Ingersoll  is." 

"You  must  have  found  it  pretty  tough 
work  in  your  theological  career  ?  " 

"I  did.  I  had  to  wear  old  clothes  and 
board  myself,  and  was  generally  half-starved. 
But  I  thought  Jesus  would  pay  me,  and  so 
I  stood  it.  I  taught  in  Sunday-school,  and 
went  round  preaching  here  and  there  in 


86 


GOLDEN  THUONE. 


school-houses  and  farm-houses  and  broken- 
down  churches ;  and  once  in  a  while  I'd  make 
out  to  get  up  a  revival,  and  then  I'd  live 
high  for  a  spell.  I'd  have  mince  pies  and 
plum  puddings  along  with  my  roast  beef, 
while  the  excitement  lasted.  Generally, 
however,  it  was  poor  pay,  and,  if  I  must  say 
it,  damn  poor  preach  also.  I  wonder  now 
that  I  ever  acted  so  like  a  confounded 
dunce." 

"  You've  a  chance  now  to  make  it  up,  and 
that's  better  than  with  those  who've  been 
humbugged  all  their  lives,  and  expect  to  have 
big  pay  for  it  out  of  the  celestial  bank. 
They  don't  know  that  its  notes  are  protested 
and  its  vaults  empty." 

"  I  will  make  it  up,"  said  Pippins.  "  This 
is  a  comfortable  world,  after  all,  even  if  we 
have  to  work  for  a  living.  I  have  to  keep  at 
it  twelve  hours  a  day.  That's  too  long,  but 
even  with  that  I  enjoy  life.  There's  nothing 
like  taking  hold  and  pushing  things  along 
and  bearing  your  part.  That's  my  destiny, 
and  I  glory  in  it.  I  can't  do  good  in  any 
other  way." 

The  great  city  was  aflame  with  myriad 
lamps  as  they  approached.  Charlie  and 
Will  hastened  to  their  lodgings.  Charlie 
was  eager  to  call  upon  Blanche,  and  have  a 
little  chat  about  his  day's  visit.  There  was 
a  note  awaiting  him.  He  tore  it  open  has- 
tily, and  perused  it.  He  stood  like  one  trans- 
fixed by  some  sudden  pain. 

"  Am  I  awake  ?  "  said  he.  "  What  is  this  ? 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

Again,  he  read  the  note  carefully,  while 
his  whole  frame  trembled. 

"  Oh,  curse  her,  curse  her !  "  he  cried. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Will. 

"  That  is  it."  And  he  flung  the  note  upon 
the  floor.  "  She  would  have  been  more  mer- 
ciful, if  she  had  stabbed  me  to  the  heart 
with  a  dagger." 

"There's  something  wrong  here,"  said 
Will,  as  he  picked  up  the  note  and  read :  — 

MB.  CHARLES  MORTON  :  — 

It  pains  me  to  write  that  I  must  not  see  you 
again.  I  have  changed  my  plans.  It  is  not 
necessary  for  me  to  inform  you  in  what  respect. 


Please  do  not  seek  me.  I  shall  not  be  at  home. 
It  is  all  right ;  and,  whatever  may  have  been  be- 
tween us,  let  it  be  forgotten. 

BLANCHE  KENNEDY. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"I  LOVED  her  so  much!"  cried  Charlie. 
"  How  can  I  endure  it,  this  bitter,  bitter  disap- 
pointment !  What  does  this  mean  ?  Could 
she  have  loved  me  ?  It  seems  as  if  I  should 
go  mad.  Oh,  love  is  so  beautiful,  and  so  ter- 
rible when  it  flees  away !  Why  did  she  not 
let  me  alone  ?  Now,  she  has  crushed  me.  I 
am  like  one  accursed." 

"I  can't  see  through  this,"  said  Will. 
"There's  something  behind.  We  must  see 
Blanche  at  once." 

"I  cannot  see  her,"  said  Charlie.  "She 
has  wronged  me;  for  she  has  deceived  me, 
and  she  has  murdered  my  soul." 

"  Bear  up  like  a  man,  Charlie.  You  don't 
know  what  it  is  yet." 

"Don't  know?  Yes,  I  do.  I  have  been 
the  sport  of  a  cruel,  reckless  woman.  She 
is  tired  of  me  sooner  than  she  thought.  She 
wants  to  be  rid  of  me  without  ceremony. 
I  will  not  trouble  her." 

"But  I  shall,"  said  Will.  "I  don't  take 
things  on  trust.  I  believe  in  going  to  the 
bottom.  She  must  explain.  If  you  won't 
go,  I  will." 

"As  you  like.  It's  nothing  to  me.  I 
know  what  I  shall  do.  In  an  hour,  I  will 
forget  her." 

Will  hurried  off  to  see  Blanche,  while 
Charlie  remained  to  endure  his  torments  as 
best  he  might. 

"  I  cannot  forget  her,"  he  said.  "  I  can- 
not. Fool,  fool  that  I  am  1  O  woman,  why 
are  you  so  vain?  Why  do  you  smile  and 
stab  ?  I  could  not  have  believed  it.  Only 
a  little  while  ago,  she  was  the  star,  the  glory 
of  my  life.  How  I  worshipped  her,  shining 
before  me  with  cloudless  beauty  1  Now,  she 
is  like  the  blasting  orb  of  death.  Through 
storm  and  ruin,  with  bitter  arrows,  she 
drives  me  to  despair.  O  manhood,  how 
little  you  seem  when  love  strikes  you!  A 
woman's  hand  is  stronger  than  a  giant's.  I 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


to 

87 


could  meet  death,  yet  I  cannot  meet  this 
blow.  It  is  so  horrible,  so  horrible." 

Will  returned. 

"  What  news?  "  gasped  Charlie. 

"Her  housekeeper  says  she  has  gone  to 
England.  But  she  is  puzzled,  and  declares 
there  is  something  wrong  about  it.  Blanche 
went  out  yesterday  as  usual.  About  noon, 
the  housekeeper  received  a  telegram  that 
her  mistress  was  detained.  About  dark, 
there  came  a  note  that  Miss  Kennedy  had 
departed  for  England.  I  have  the  note  with 
me.  Is  that  Blanche's  handwriting  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  Charlie.  "  She  says  she 
leaves  at  once,  and  desires  things  to  be  kept 
in  order  until  she  returns.  Was  there  ever 
such  a  freak  ?  " 

"I  think  you  are  a  bit  blind,"  said  Will. 
"  I  don't  think  that's  her  handwriting." 

"  What  a  fool  you  are ! "  said  Charlie.  "  I 
have  her  notes  and  letters.  Compare  them. 
Don't  they  look  alike  ?  What  are  you  think- 
ing of?" 

"  I  am  thinking  they  are  very  skilful  for- 
geries." 

"Bill,  what  is  the  matter  with  you, —  try- 
ing to  ease  things  off?  But  you  can't  do  it." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Charlie,  utterly  wrong. 
You  are  hasty  as  you  were  once  before. 
You  don't  give  Blanche  a  fair  chance.  How 
do  you  know  but  this  is  some  plot,  and  that 
she  you  love  is  in  danger  and  needs  your 
manhood  ?  " 

"  Pshaw,  that's  nonsense.  I  know  better. 
I've  seen  too  much  of  women.  They  are 
heartless  things.  What  does  she  care  for 
me.  a  poor  miner?" 

"  She  cares  everything  for  you.  I've  seen 
her,  and  I  trust  her.  She  has  a  noble  heart. 
I  would  not  yield  her  thus  lightly.  I'd  go 
through  fire,  but  I  would  know  the  truth. 
I  would  not  desert  her  on  such  evidence  as 
this." 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  good  deal  of  faith," 
said  Charlie. 

"I  do  have;  and  I  don't  give  people  up 
until  my  five  senses  are  convinced.  I  don't 
assume  everybody  to  be  a  liar,  much  less 
a  woman  like  Blanche,  from  whose  eyes 


nothing  but  virtue  shines.  Remember  Mad- 
eline. Was  she  not  most  faithful,  most  lov- 
ing, even  unto  death,  though  you  were 
convinced,  perhaps  on  better  evidence  than 
this,  that  she  was  false?  Come,  do  have 
some  faith,  and  don't  take  things  exactly  as 
you  see  them.  Probe  to  the  bottom." 

"  Would  I  could  believe  in  her ! "  said 
Charlie.  "If  I  could  but  keep  my  trust, 
I  would  follow  her  over  land  and  sea." 

"  Take  my  word  for  it  that  you  can  trust 
her,"  said  Will. 

"  But  these  letters, —  how  do  you  explain 
them  ?  They  are  in  her  handwriting." 

"There's  where  you  jump.  The  link  is 
not  quite  so  sure.  I  have  sent  a  telegram 
to  Paddie.  He'll  be  here  in  a  minute,  and 
then  we'll  study  it  up.  But  give  me  your 
hand  that  you  won't  whistle  her  off  until 
you  know  she's  false." 

"Here  it  is.  I'll  stick  to  the  evidence. 
I  don't  believe  you'll  change  it  much.  Pad- 
die  is  pretty  smart,  but  he  is  not  magician 
enough  to  convince  me  that  Blanche  didn't 
write  these." 

"Possibly  she  did.  I  admit  the  resem- 
blance. But  now  for  the  identity.  Paddie, 
here's  a  question  for  you.  Set  your  wits  to 
work.  You  are  an  expert,  I  believe,  in  pen- 
manship." 

Briefly,  Will  told  the  story  to  Paddie,  as 
the  latter  came  hurrying  in. 

"I  should  say  all  were  written  by  the 
same  person,"  said  Paddie;  "but  I  must 
study  deeper.  These  notes  and  letters  you 
know  were  written  by  Blanche?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Charlie. 

"  And  this  you  received  to-night,  and  this 
is  the  one  sent  to  the  housekeeper?" 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  give  me  a  pipe  and  tobacco,  and 
I'll  smoke  it  out  via  my  brain." 

Paddie  read  and  reread  the  letters  care- 
fully, amid  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  My  impression  is,"  said  he,  "  that 
Blanche  didn't  write  these  last  two." 

"  Prove  it,"  cried  Charlie. 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  do.  But  an 
impression  is  one  thing,  you  know,  and 


88 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


proof  is  another.  I  give  you  the  impression 
first.  Make  the  most  of  it.  After  a  while, 
I'll  give  you  the  proof.  You  are  as  blind  as 
a  bat,  Charlie.  By  that  sign,  I  know  that 
you  are  in  love.  We  who  are  not  in  love 
can  see  into  this  thing  a  good  deal  further 
than  you  can." 

"Prove  me  blind,  an  idiot,  only  prove 
that  she  did  not  write  this  cruel  note ;  and 
I  will  search,  as  long  as  I  have  life,  to 
find  her,  and  beg  pardon  for  my  unbelief." 

"Well,"  said  Paddie,  "look  here.  Ob- 
serve how  she  crosses  her  t's, —  a  little  curve 
down,  and  alike  in  every  case.  Examine 
with  this  microscope.  There  are  some  few 
things  in  writing  where  one's  personality 
seems  to  be  expressed ;  and  these  are  done 
invariably  in  the  same  manner.  It's  this  or 
that  letter  or  mark.  It  is  by  these  personal 
signs  that  you  can  detect  the  most  skilful 
forgery.  In  the  case  of  Blanche,  one  of 
these  marks  is  the  crossing  of  her  t's.  No- 
tice how  peculiar  it  is,  and  unchangeable 
in  its  peculiarity  in  all  the  letters  that  you 
know  to  have  been  written  by  her.  Have 
you  got  that  into  your  head? " 

"  I  have,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Well,  now,  look  at  these  last  notes.  That 
peculiarity  is  lacking  in  every  case.  It  is  not 
imitated  once.  That  curve  which  invariably 
accompanies  Blanche's  handwriting  is  not 
there.  Therefore,  Blanche  is  not  there ;  and 
somebody  else  is,  who  can  imitate  everything 
with  consummate  skill,  but  not  those  marks 
of  identity." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Charlie. 

"Now  we've  got  on  the  track,  let  us 
pursue  it  and  satisfy  ourselves  thoroughly. 
Blanche  expresses  her  personality  in  curves ; 
and  these  curves,  delicate  and  sharp,  we  can 
trace  in  almost  all  her  letters.  We  do  not 
always  discover  them ;  but,  when  you  have 
them  in  mind,  you  can  easily  catch  them. 
Read  her  letters  with  this  key,  and  note 
those  persistent  signs.  Read  these  last  notes, 
and  you  can't  find  one  of  them." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Charlie:  "you  are  a 
magician." 

"That  comes  of    studying    flowers   and 


rocks,"  said  Paddie.  "We  have  to  be  on 
the  alert,  in  order  to  catch  their  secrets.  We 
play  hide  and  seek  with  many  a  delicate 
fibre,  a  subtle  tint,  in  which  perchance  we 
can  discover  the  history  of  ages.  Thus,  we 
can  read  a  woman's  soul  as  it  trembles  in 
the  flowing  ink,  dropping  from  the  diamond 
point  of  her  pen.  Blanche  can't  escape  me 
any  more  than  the  heart  of  a  flower.  Don't 
you  see  that  I  am  right  ?  " 

"Indeed,  I  do,  bless  you!  How  can  I 
thank  you,  Will,  for  your  faith  in  her  I  love, 
when  I  was  so  weak  ?  Now  for  action.  She 
is  in  danger,  I  know.  I  must  leave  this 
minute." 

"  Blind  again,"  said  Paddie.  "  What's  the 
use  of  leaving  ?  Do  you  know  where  to  go  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Charlie. 

"Then  let  us  find  out  which  way  to  go, 
east,  west,  north,  or  south." 

"What  shall  we  do?"  cried  Charlie. 

"  Sit  still  and  think,"  said  Paddie. 

"  I  can't  do  it :  think  for  me." 

"  First,  then,"  said  Paddie,  "  we  want  to 
know  who  has  done  this  trick.  Then,  we'll 
find  out  his  course,  and  follow." 

"I  can't  imagine  who's  the  rascal,"  said 
Charlie. 

"  Nor  I,  or  what  the  motive  could  be  I" 

"I  think  we  had  better  go  to  Blanche's 
house  and  see  the  housekeeper:  we  may 
start  the  game  there." 

They  were  soon  in  close  conversation  with 
the  housekeeper.  She  was  in  a  flutter  of  ex- 
citement. She  believed  that  something  was 
wrong,  although  her  poor  head  could  not  see 
through  it.  That  very  morning,  Blanche  had 
taken  her  usual  walk. 

"She  looked  a  little  flurried  when  she 
went  out, —  remarked  that  she  needed  the 
air,  that  her  brain  was  in  a  whirl,"  said 
the  housekeeper. 

"  She  hadn't  been  gone  long,  when  I  missed 
the  kitchen  girl ;  and  I  haven't  seen  her  since. 
I  don't  understand  it.  She  went  up  the  street. 
I  saw  that  old  man  go  by.  I  wonder  what  he 
wanted?" 

"  What  old  man  ?  "    said  Paddie. 

"  I  don't  know  his  name,  gaunt  and  thin 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


89 


and  ugly-looking.  He  called  here  once  or 
twice ;  but  Blanche  didn't  like  him,  and  I 
don't  wonder.  He  gave  me  a  Bible  one  day, 
when  he  went  out,  and  a  few  tracts." 

"  Gooch,  by  thunder !  "  said  Charlie.  "  I 
wonder  if  he's  at  the  bottom  of  this  ?  " 

"  Like  as  not,"  said  Paddie. 

"But  he  hasn't  brains  enough  for  any 
scheme." 

"  He  doesn't  look  like  it,  I  admit.  He  may 
be  sharper  than  we  think.  He's  no  fool, 
with  all  his  hypocrisy." 

"  Let  us  find  out :  if  this  trail  fails,  we 
must  strike  another." 

A  thorough  search  showed  that  Gooch  was 
nowhere  in  the  city.  He  had  settled  up  his 
bills,  and  left  word  that  he  was  going 
East. 

"  He's  the  one  I "  said  Paddie.  "  Now,  the 
next  thing  is  to  track  him.  We've  worked 
all  night :  we'd  better  go  to  bed  and  have  a 
good  sleep,  meanwhile  put  a  detective  on  the 
scent.  By  the  time  we  wake  up  and  get  a 
good  square  meal,  we  shall  know  in  what  di- 
rection to  go." 

While  they  were  asleep,  one  of  the  best 
detectives  of  San  Francisco  was  engaged  in 
following  up  Gooch. 

In  a  few  hours,  he  was  ready  to  report. 

«  Where  is  he  ?  "  said  Charlie. 

"  On  the  bosom  of  the  Pacific,"  said  the 
detective. 

"Did  he  go  on  a  steamship?" 

"  No,  on  a  sailing  vessel, —  one  of  the  fast- 
est in  the  port." 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"Two  women  were  with  him.  One  was 
apparently  unwell,  and  had  to  be  carried  on 
board." 

"When  did  he  start?" 

"  Yesterday  afternoon." 

"Name  of  the  ship?" 

"« Betsy  Jane,'  a  New  England  craft." 

"  What's  the  fastest  ship  now  in  port  ?  " 

"  The  « Albatross.' " 

"When  will  it  sail?" 

u  Any  time,  I  guess.  It's  unloaded.  It's 
bound,  I  believe,  for  the  Sandwich  Islands." 

"  And  the  « Betsy  Jane '  ?  " 


"  Is  bound  for  Calcutta." 

"  Hurry  for  port,"  said  Paddie,  "  and  se- 
cure the  'Albatross.'  I'll  take  a  vacation,  and 
bear  you  company.  We'll  have  a  fine  race. 
It's  good  weather  and  good  wind." 

Charlie  and  Will  found  the  captain  of  the 
"  Albatross  "  a  blithe  old  Scotchman,  Furge- 
son  by  name. 

"  Captain  Furgeson,  I  believe,"  said  Char- 
lie. 


"When  do  you  sail?" 

"  Can't  tell.    Business  kind  of  dull." 

"  Could  you  sail  in  half  an  hour  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  see  any  use  in  it." 

"  I  want  to  charter  your  ship.  I'll  pay  a 
good  price." 

"  That's  enough,"  said  the  captain.  "  Pay 
me,  and  I'll  go  anywhere.  That's  my  busi- 
ness. Do  you  want  to  discover  the  open 
polar  sea  ?  " 

"Possibly.  We  don't  know  where  our 
voyage  will  end.  Is  your  ship  fast  ?  " 

"  That  she  is.    She  goes  like  a  bird." 

"  Do  you  know  the  « Betsy  Jane '  ?  " 

"  I  do.  She's  a  quick  one,  but  the  *  Alba- 
tross '  can  beat  her.  I've  tried  it.  We  had  a 
race  coming  in.  The  wind  was  fair.  The 
'  Albatross '  jumped  right  ahead." 

«  The  « Betsy  Jane '  left  last  night.  Can 
you  catch  it?" 

"That  depends.  It's  a  big  start,  you 
see." 

"I'll  give  you  five  thousand  dollars,  if 
you'll  catch  her  before  she  strikes  port." 

"I'll  do  my  level  best.  It's  worth  the 
game.  I'll  hoist  anchor  by  sunset." 

The  three  adventurers  were  soon  ready. 

At  sunset,  the  "  Albatross  "  weighed  an- 
chor, and  under  full  sail  was  speeding  down 
the  bay.  It  was  a  wonderful  scene.  The 
city  was  behind,  blazing  in  the  fires  of  the 
departing  day.  Far  up  and  down  the  shore, 
it  stretched ;  and  aH  its  houses  seemed  like 
palaces  in  the  refulgent  light.  Before  them 
heaved  fcnd  danced  the  boundless  sea,  its 
waves  rolling  and  breaking  amid  a  thousand 
varying  colors.  Above  the  gorgeously  fading 
scene  rode  the  silver  splendor  of  the  moon. 


90 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


"  It's  on  our  right,"  said  Paddie.  "  We'll 
take  it  for  a  sign  of  luck." 

"  I'll  compel  luck,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  won't 
depend  on  the  moon." 

They  swept  by  the  Golden  Gates.  How 
beautifully  the  bay  looked  in  the  calm  em- 
brace of  the  land,  and  tossing  its  multitudi- 
nous jewels  ever  at  the  feet  of  the  queenly 
city  that,  with  a  tiara  of  many  flashing 
lights,  sat  crowned  upon  the  ample  shore! 
Slowly,  it  faded  away.  Twinkling  flame 
after  flame  was  lost,  and  soon  only  the  sea 
and  sky  flung  their  dazzling  lustres  about 
the  pathway  of  the  flying  "  Albatross." 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  SHIP  is  a  world  in  itself.  Tossing  over 
the  boundless  deep,  it  seems  something  like 
a  wandering  planet.  Those  on  board  live  a 
separate  existence  for  the  time  being.  Only 
by  the  link  of  memory  are  they  bound  to 
the  vast  outside  world.  On  every  side  is  the 
sea  and  on  every  side  the  sky.  None  can 
escape.  Therefore,  if  the  company  is  not 
agreeable,  a  sea  voyage  is  very  tedious.  If 
there  is  a  general  harmony  of  disposition, 
the  little  world  moves  gayly  on,  and  the 
bright  and  varied  journey  over  the  waters 
becomes  a  memorable  pleasure. 

Our  little  company  on  board  the  "Alba- 
tross" did  agree  very  well.  Besides  our 
three  old  acquaintances,  Morton,  Burnham, 
and  McConnell,  or  Charlie  and  Will  and 
Paddie,  as  we  shall  delight  to  call  them  on 
account  of  old  associations,  some  new  and 
very  interesting  personages  appear. 

The  captain  himself  was  an  "Old  Salt," 
almost  born  on  the  sea;  and  it  was  the 
only  place  where  he  had  ever  done  a  stroke 
of  work.  Occasionally,  he  had  loafed  a 
couple  of  weeks  on  shore ;  but  he  soon  grew 
tired,  and  ran  back  to  the  embrace  of  old 
Neptune.  The  ocean  was  his  home,  and  he 
seemed  to  know  all  about  it.  He  had  been 
in  every  nook  and  cranny.  He  was  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  storms  and  currents  of 
the  Atlantic  and  Pacific.  He  had  touched 
at  every  shore  and  rode  in  every  harbor. 


He  was  tough  as  the  winds  could  make  one, 
bronzed  and  hardened  in  flesh  and  muscle. 
He  was  "  Jack  of  all  trades,"  and  could  do 
anything  connected  with  a  vessel.  He  could 
handle  any  kind  of  tool  as  deftly  as  he  could 
a  sail.  I  don't  know  what  he  believed.  He 
never  told  anybody.  However,  he  was  not 
superstitious,  and  in  the  wildest  danger 
never  got  upon  his  knees.  He  kept  right  at 
work,  and  made  others  do  the  same.  I  doubt 
if  he  had  any  faith  beyond  his  five  senses ; 
but  what  he  did  believe  in,  he  believed  in 
persistently.  The  world  to  him  was  no  va- 
gary, but  a  stubborn  fact;  and  he  battled 
with  it  heroically,  until  he  had  gotten  the 
better  of  it,  and  owned  and  commanded  his 
own  ship.  He  had  received  many  a  hard 
knock  and  passed  through  a  thousand  diffi- 
culties, and  by  sheer  pluck  had  won  the  day. 
His  wife  was  with  him,  a  bright  and  comely 
woman,  and  well  read.  Besides  being  some- 
thing of  a  philosopher,  she  had  the  shrewd 
common-sense  of  her  country  folk  and  a 
touch  of  fancy  and  sentiment  such  as  glows 
in  the  pages  of  Scott  and  Burns.  She  was 
fond  of  both  these  writers,  and  knew  them 
by  heart.  She  could  play  upon  the  harp 
with  considerable  skill,  and  often  during  the 
quiet  days  and  nights  she  sent  the  enchant- 
ing notes  dancing  over  the  glistening  bosom 
of  the  sea.  Her  husband  delighted  in  this 
accomplishment,  and  found  in  her  all  that 
he  could  worship  and  admire.  However,  she 
was,  like  him,  a  genuine  worker ;  and  these 
jets  of  fancy  only  sparkled  over  the  surface 
of  her  being.  She  was  thoroughly  healthful, 
and,  unconsciously  to  herself,  was  a  disciple 
of  her  brilliant  countryman,  David  Hume. 
She  had  not  reasoned  the  thing  out  so  keenly 
as  this  great  philosopher,  but  at  heart  she 
had  no  faith  in  anything  supernatural.  T 
suppose  that  in  her  early  days  she  had  be- 
longed to  the  Kirk ;  but,  since  her  marriage 
and  her  life  upon  the  sea,  all  the  dogmas  of 
the  Church  had  dropped  off,  like  so  many  "  old 
clothes."  So  completely  had  they  passed 
from  her  mind  that  she  never  thought  it 
worth  while  even  to  refute  them.  She  had 
a  keen  zest  for  life,  was  full  of  fun,  enjoyed  a 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


91 


joke ;  and  her  supreme  recreation  was  play- 
ing chess,  in  which  she  was  an  adept,  and 
could  beat  some  of  the  sturdiest  cham- 
pions. She  always  accompanied  her  hus- 
band through  storm  and  sunshine,  delighted 
in  the  breath  of  the  sea  and  the  roar  of  its 
waves,  and  had  been  known,  in  cases  of 
peril,  to  furl  a  sail  right  in  the  teeth  of  a 
numcane. 

But  the  oddest,  the  wisest,  the  most  curi- 
ous aud  learned  man  on  board  the  ship  was 
Dr.  Mackenna.  He  seemed  to  be  a  century 
old,  was  tough  as  a  knot,  could  endure  any 
hardship,  and  was  strong  as  a  lion.  He  was 
ostensibly  the  surgeon  of  the  vessel,  but 
shipped  with  Captain  Furgeson,  because  the 
latter  was  an  old  friend,  and  he  himself  had 
won  a  competence  in  larger  and  more  varied 
service  on  board  a  man-of-war;  and,  being 
advanced  in  life,  he  wished  to  devote  himself 
mainly  to  his  favorite  sciences  and  the  per- 
fecting of  his  inventions.  On  board  the  "  Al- 
batross," his  duties  were  few ;  and  he  could 
spend  much  of  his  time  in  study,  and  the 
massing  together  of  a  vast  variety  of  natural 
curiosities,  gathered  from  many  a  shore,  from 
the  bosom  of  the  sea  and  even  from  its 
depths.  He  was  a  man  of  original  genius, 
a  real  delver  into  the  secrets  of  nature ;  and, 
moreover,  he  was  thoroughly  equipped,  hav- 
ing received  a  university  education.  He 
could  almost  talk  in  Latin,  he  was  so  famil- 
iar with  it.  His  favorite  poet  was  Lucretius. 
He  knew  him  by  heart.  He  enjoyed  his 
lively  and  wonderful  descriptions  of  the  ma- 
terial universe.  Lucretius,  he  declared,  was 
the  first  poet  who,  with  magic  wand,  had 
touched  the  world  of  matter,  and  revealed 
the  essential  glory  of  all  its  flying  atoms, 
as  they  formed  and  reformed  like  obedient 
armies  on  the  plains  of  infinite  existence, 
ever  making  some  new  and  beautiful  order. 
The  doctor  was  what  you  might  call  an  ideal 
materialist.  He  saw  in  matter  the  promise 
and  potency  of  all  life ;  and  yet  that  life  to 
him  was  full  of  wonder,  and  he  recognized 
the  haunting  mystery  of  sun  and  sky  and 
earth,  "  of  what  behind  these  things  might 
lie  and  yet  remain  unseen."  He  had  bound- 


less faith  in  the  capacity  of  nature  of  what 
might  be  done,  if  we  fully  understood  its 
laws  and  could  evoke  all  its  riches.  He 
thoroughly  detested  theology  and  meta- 
physics, and  looked  upon  their  study  as  a 
melancholy  waste  of  time.  It  was  folly  to 
try  to  mount  the  skies,  when  earth  needed 
our  utmost  energy.  In  early  life,  he  had 
devoted  some  time  to  the  discovery  of  "per- 
petual motion,"  but  finally  gave  up  the  pur- 
suit, though  somewhat  unwillingly;  for  he 
had  a  sort  of  lingering  conviction  that  some- 
how it  might  be  called  forth  from  the  in- 
finite resources  of  nature.  In  fact,  at  heart 
the  doctor  was  a  poet.  Behind  his  keen  in- 
tellect was  a  soul  of  restless  fire. 

Paddie  and  the  doctor  were  friends  at  once, 
and  talked  by  the  hour  as  the  ship  went  roll- 
ing over  the  billows. 

"  No  use  of  being  sea-sick,"  said  Paddie, 
"  when  we  take  things  as  easy  as  we  do  here. 
I  should  like  to  float  on  forever.  This  is  a 
kind  of  dream.  The  motion  of  the  ship  is 
like  an  endless  song." 

"  A  ship's  the  place  to  live,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, "  for  there  you  are  always  on  the  move. 
Even  when  asleep,  you  are  speeding  away. 
I've  got  so  used  to  this  ship  that  it  seems 
like  a  part  of  my  body." 

"  Don't  you  ever  long  for  shore  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,  of  course,  when  I  wish  to  in- 
crease my  collection.  I'm  continually  finding 
something  new.  Strange  what  a  variety  there 
is !  Last  time  I  was  on  shore  at  Portsmouth, 
where  I've  roamed  scores  of  times,  I  found  a 
new  specimen.  Come  and  see  it." 

Down  they  went  to  the  doctor's  collection. 
It  was  a  museum  indeed,  and  not  a  rock  but 
the  doctor  seemed  to  know  its  history  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world. 

"See  this,"  said  he.  "It  has  been  tossed 
about  I  don't  know  how  many  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  years.  I  believe  it  has  been 
washed  all  over  the  planet.  I  have  found 
many  specimens  in  the  islands  of  the  South- 
ern Seas,  and  only  this  one  in  England. 
How  did  it  ever  get  there,  all  alone  in  the 
north,  when  its  family  have  huddled  together 
in  the  south  ?  Rocks  have  a  strange  history, 


92 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


and  they  do  strange  things  just  like  men 
and  women." 

"Nature  is  full  of  freaks,"  said  Paddie. 
"With  all  her  law  and  order,  she  is  con- 
stantly doing  the  unique.  She  is  not  in 
favor  of  monotony,  even  among  flowers  and 
rocks.  I  believe  that  every  flower  and  every 
rock  is  a  sort  of  species  by  itself.  It  is  dif- 
ferent from  everything  else,  and  can't  be 
classified.  Nature  never  does  the  same 
thing  over." 

"If  we  could  get  at  the  ultimate  atoms 
and  scrape  acquaintance  with  them,"  said 
the  doctor,  "  we'd  find  that  each  had  a  dif- 
ferent face,  and  I  don't  know  but  an  infi- 
nite number  of  faces.  So  there  cannot  be  a 
repetition.  This  rock  isn't  what  it  was 
when  I  took  it  up." 

Charlie  had  told  the  captain  and  his  wife 
all  about  his  strange  troubles,  and  they 
deeply  sympathized  with  his  effort  to  find 
and  capture  Blanche. 

"We  don't  go  half  fast  enough,"  said 
Charlie. 

"  We  are  going  twelve  knots  an  hour,  and 
have  kept  it  up  ever  since  we  left  port.  At 
this  rate,  we  shall  catch  the  *  Betsy  Jane ' 
about  day  after  to-morrow." 

« If  we  are  on  the  track  of  her.  The  Pa- 
cific is  pretty  broad,  and  we  might  slide  by 
and  not  know  it." 

"  Hardly ;  for  ships  have  a  certain  course. 
If  Gooch  is  going  to  Calcutta,  he'll  take  the 
shortest  way,  and  I  know  what  that  is.  It's 
a  queer  game  he's  up  to.  I  wonder  what 
he's  after?" 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  never 
gave  him  credit  for  being  any  great  shakes, 
even  of  a  devil.  I  didn't  suppose  him  capa- 
ble of  a  bold  villany,  only  of  something 
sneaky  and  mean.  I  must  confess  it  stag- 
gers me  to  think  that  he's  undertaken  such 
a  stupendous  job  as  to  kidnap  a  woman  and 
carry  her  off  to  England." 

"  I  reckon  he'll  be  surprised  when  he  sees 
you  on  board  the  *  Betsy  Jane.'  He'll  have 
to  heave  anchor  then,  I  guess." 

"  I  have  a  good  notion  to  throw  him  into 
the  sea,"  said  Charlie. 

Occasionally,  a  ship  fluttered  into  view 


upon  the  far  horizon,  and  then  disappeared. 
Furgeson  had  the  knack  of  knowing  just 
what  the  ship  was,  and  whither  it  was  going. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  where  the  "  Betsy 
Jane's  "  course  lay,  and  he  wasted  no  time  in 
useless  pursuit. 

Finally,  on  the  day  he  set,  a  distant  sail 
hove  in  sight  to  the  south-west.  As  he  swept 
the  remote  horizon,  he  said :  "  That's  the 

*  Betsy  Jane.'    It  won't  take  long  to  overhaul 
her,  and  then  we  must  manage  to  board  her. 
If  this  breeze  keeps  up,  it  will  be  difficult, 
unless  of  his  own  accord  the  captain  of  the 

*  Betsy    Jane'   hauls    to.     However,  we've 
caught  her ;  and  we  won't  let  her  slip,  even 
if  we  have  to  stick  to  her  side  all  the  way 
to  Calcutta." 

They  steadily  gained  upon  the  distant 
ship,  and  by  afternoon  were  within  a  mile ; 
and  ib  was  plainly  visible  that  the  "Betsy 
Jane  "  was  spreading  every  sail,  and  meant 
to  keep  at  the  top  of  her  speed.  All  night 
long  they  followed  her  as  she  flew  over  the 
waves.  They  were  within  hailing  distance, 
but  the  captain  of  the  "  Betsy  Jane  "  would 
not  answer  any  signals.  Toward  midnight, 
the  breeze  began  to  diminish,  and  both  ships 
moved  lazily  along. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  had  a  calm  by 
morning,"  said  Furgeson.  "If  we  do,  we 
are  all  right.  We  can  tackle  them  with  a 
boat,  and  they  won't  refuse  to  let  us  come 
on  board." 

Sure  enough,  when  the  morning  came, 
the  sea  was  almost  like  glass :  there  was 
hardly  a  ripple.  The  sails  flapped  idly ;  and 
the  vessels  were  almost  motionless,  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  each  other. 

"Now,  we've  captured  the  booty,"  said 
Charlie.  "In  a  few  minutes,  I'll  have 
Blanche  in  my  arms." 

They  hastily  lowered  the  boat,  and  in  a 
twinkling,  almost,  were  alongside  the  "  Betsy 
Jane." 

"  Hullo,"  said  Furgeson. 

"Hullo,"  said  the  captain  of  the  "Betsy 
Jane." 

"  This  is  the  «  Albatross.'  I  want  to  coma 
aboard." 

"  You  can  do  so,"  was  the  response. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


93 


Charlie  and  Will  and  Paddie  eagerly 
climbed  the  side  of  the  "  Betsy  Jane,"  and 
were  soon  upon  deck. 

They  were  greeted  by  the  captain,  an 
enormous  man,  almost  seven  feet  high,  and 
strong  as  a  bull. 

This  was  Captain  Jedediah  Sockdolliger, 
a  regular  Down-easter  of  the  sturdiest  type, 
and  a  thorough-going  Calvinistic  theologian. 
The  five  points  stuck  out  all  over  his  capa- 
cious person.  You  could  see  that  he  believed 
in  hell-fire  with  his  whole  heart,  but  that  he 
himself  was  one  of  the  elect,  and  would  play 
upon  a  harp  of  gold  and  look  over  the  battle- 
ments of  heaven,  and  rejoice  in  the  torments 
of  the  damned  and  give  glory  to  God.  Sock- 
dolliger thoroughly  believed  in  God:  the 
whole  universe  hinged  upon  the  Deity. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  getting  along 
without  him ;  for  he  made  the  sun  and  the 
stars  also.  And  this  god  was  what  ?  Why, 
an  infinite  Sockdolliger,  —  that  and  nothing 
more.  Sockdolliger  worshipped  himself,  and 
when  he  was  glorifying  God  he  was  glorifying 
his  own  burly  image.  However,  he  was  sim- 
ply repeating  the  feat  that  thousands  of  the- 
ologians have  performed  before  him. 

Now,  we  must  understand  that  Sockdol- 
liger was  a  thoroughly  conscientious  man. 
He  was  a  Puritan  of  the  Puritans.  He 
believed  in  the  law  and  the  gospel.  He 
would  do  what  he  thought  right,  though  the 
heavens  fell.  He  was  no  hypocrite  and  no 
rogue.  He  had  the  sternest  sense  of  duty, 
as  he  understood  it.  He  hadn't  a  particle 
of  charity.  From  his  stand-point,  every 
thing  was  grim  and  awful;  and  so  he 
always  acted  in  a  grim  and  awful  way. 
Such  men  are  tremendous  allies  for  which- 
ever side  they  take. 

He  welcomed  the  new-comers  with  a  cer- 
tain sturdy  grace. 

"You  have  passengers,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Sockdolliger,  "  very  pleasant 
ones  too,  quite  pious  and  devoted.  Really,  I 
have  been  edified  with  their  company,  or 
rather  his  company ;  for  I  haven't  seen  the 
woman,  only  the  man,  but  he  is  one  of  the 
saints.  He  prays  every  day." 


"What  is  his  name,  please?" 

"Gooch, — Ephraim  Gooch  from  Scoop- 
town,  Maine.  I  know  him  by  reputation,  he 
came  from  near  where  I  live.  He  has  just 
built  a  new  steeple  to  the  church.  He  is  an 
honor  to  our  cause.  He  seems  to  realize  the 
worthlessness  of  human  life.  I  hardly  ever 
see  him  smile.  I  feel  as  if  my  ship  was  blest 
while  he  is  on  board.  He  is  in  his  cabin 
now,  reading  the  Bible.  He  doesn't  read  any 
other  book,  except  a  tract  now  and  theii. 
He  has  some  beautiful  tracts.  They  are  full 
of  the  spirit  of  the  gospel.  They  treat  of 
the  sinfulness  of  man,  of  Sabbath-breaking, 
of  the  awfulness  of  dancing :  they  admonish 
us  to  be  mournful,  and  to  sit  in  sack-cloth 
and  ashes.  They  have  done  me  a  great  deal 
of  good,  these  tracts  have.  They  have  pen- 
etrated my  soul  like  the  sword  of  the  Lord, 
and  convicted  me  of  my  shortcomings." 

"  We  would  like  to  see  this  paragon :  he 
will  be  willing,  I  suppose,  to  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance." 

"  I'll  send  for  him  :  he  will  edify  you." 

So  the  captain  summoned  his  immaculate 
passenger.  In  a  few  moments,  the  famil- 
iar form  of  Gooch  was  seen  coming  up 
the  hatchway  :  he  had  a  Bible  in  one  hand, 
and  was  humming  the  good  old  melody, 
"Hark!  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  sound." 
With  a  most  obsequious  bow  and  imperturb- 
able air,  he  greeted  his  old  acquaintances 
of  Golden  Throne. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"I  BEGIN  to  think  that  Gooch  is  the  devil 
himself,"  said  Charlie,  as  he  looked  at  him. 
"It  may  be  harder  work  than  we  imagine 
to  break  through  the  net  he  has  woven." 

Gooch  advanced  with  deliberate  step.  He 
did  not  seem  surprised  or  afraid  to  meet  his 
old  associates.  He  was  evidently  prepared 
for  any  emergency. 

"  We  are  not  very  glad  to  see  you,  I  con- 
fess," said  Charlie.  "  Nevertheless,  we  have 
been  very  anxious  to  overhaul  this  ship. 
We  care  more  for  your  company  than  for 
you.  There  is  a  lady  on  board,  I  believe  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  deacon,  unabashed. 


94 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


"  We  will  take  her  back  with  us,  and  you 
can  go  on  to  Calcutta  as  fast  as  you  like." 

"  I  shall  not  consent  to  any  such  thing," 
said  the  deacon. 

"  Then  we  will  make  you,"  said  Charlie, 
fiercely. 

"  I  don't  think  you  can.  I  appeal  to  the 
captain  for  protection.  I  only  ask  my 
rights." 

"  By  what  right  do  you  drag  this  lady 
away  by  force  ?  " 

"I  have  not  done  so,"  responded  the 
deacon. 

"  I  accuse  you  of  this  crime,  and  I  will 
compel  you  to  justice." 

"It  is  no  crime.  I  took  the  lady  you 
speak  of,  because  I  had  a  right  so  to  do." 

"  Do  you  speak  of  Blanche  Kennedy  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  And  wherefore  have  you  done  this  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife  ?  Liar !  villain !  do  you  dare 
this  ?  "  shouted  Charlie.  "  Take  those  words 
back,  or  I'll  fling  you  over  the  ship  1 " 

"  Not  while  I'm  here,"  said  Sockdolliger. 
"  I'm  going  to  see  fair  play.  If  Gooch  has 
committed  any  crime,  I  give  him  up." 

"  He  has  abducted  a  young  lady  from  her 
home.  Isn't  that  crime  enough  ?  " 

"Certainly.  All  I  want  is  the  proof. 
Let  the  lady  speak  for  herself." 

"  I  object,"  said  the  deacon.  "  The  lady 
is  my  wife.  I  can  speak  for  her." 

"  Impostor !  "  cried  Charlie  ;  and  he  tried 
to  seize  the  deacon.  Sockdolliger  laid  his 
heavy  hand  upon  him. 

"  Hold  on,  young  man,"  he  said,  "  not  so 
fast.  I  can  attend  to  this  matter.  Deacon, 
give  us  the  documents,  and  it's  all  right. 
Otherwise,  I'll  pitch  you  over  myself." 

The  deacon  produced  a  copy  of  a  San 
Francisco  paper,  in  which,  to  the  amazement 
of  Charlie  and  his  friends,  was  a  notice  of 
Gooch's  marriage  to  Blanche  Kennedy.  He 
also  produced  a  certificate  of  marriage. 
Everything  was  apparently  correct. 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Sockdolliger.  "  The 
deacon's  right.  The  lady  belongs  to  him. 
I  don't  see  how  anybody  can  interfere." 


"  Won't  you  let  the  woman  speak  for  her- 
self?" 

"  Of  course  not,  unless  the  husband  allows 
it,"  said  Sockdolliger.  "That's  according 
to  Scripture.  The  husband  is  the  head  of 
the  wife,  and  speaks  for  the  wife." 

"  There'8  a  great  wrong  committed." 

"  I  don't  see  it.  The  documents  are  legal. 
These  are  married  people." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  we  are  going  to 
submit  to  this  nonsense?"  said  Charlie. 

"  You  must,  so  far  as  I'm  concerned.  The 
Good  Book  says  that  wives  must  submit  to 
their  husbands.  I  will  not  promote  a  family 
quarrel.  Gooch  is  master  in  this  case,  and 
his  word  is  law." 

"Whoever  heard  of  such  a  thing?" 

"  It's  the  law,  and  that's  all  I  know,"  said 
Sockdolliger.  "  This  is  a  legal  marriage,  and 
after  marriage  woman  has  nothing  to  say. 
The  Bible  commands  her  to  keep  silence." 

"  Can't  you  let  her  speak  in  her  own  de- 
fence ?  Perhaps  the  marriage  was  not  alto- 
gether legal.  Surely,  you  are  willing  to  hear 
testimony." 

"  I  should  of  course  be  willing  to  hear  tes- 
timony, if  I  thought  there  was  any  doubt  of 
the  legality  of  the  marriage." 

"Why  shouldn't  there  be  a  doubt?  I 
claim  that  force  and  fraud  were  used,  and 
I  dare  this  devilish  old  hypocrite  to  confront 
his  victim  face  to  face." 

"I've  no  objections,  if  the  deacon's  will- 
ing," said  Sockdolliger. 

"I  cannot  consent  under  the  circum- 
stances," said  Gooch.  "  For  my  wife  is  not 
very  well,  and  such  a  shock  might  be  dan- 
gerous. I  have  the  certificate  of  two  physi- 
cians that  her  mind  is  somewhat  diseased 
and  that  she  needs  the  tenderest  care.  Here, 
captain,  you  can  read  for  yourself." 

The  captain  read  the  instrument,  and 
surely  everything  was  made  out  satisfac- 
torily. 

"  These  physicians  visited  her  not  an  hour 
before  our  voyage,"  said  the  deacon;  "and 
this  is  what  they  report.  Am  I  not  right  in 
keeping  my  wife  secluded?  Why  should  I 
bring  her  forth  to  be  subjected  to  the  rude 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


95 


scrutiny  of  these  men  ?  I  do  not  know  what 
they  want, —  her  money  perhaps, —  bat  I  care 
for  her  soul.  I  am  interested  in  her  immor- 
tal welfare.  I  married  her  in  order  to  save 
her,  to  bring  her  to  the  fountain  filled  with 
blood.  I  read  the  Bible  to  her  and  the  cat- 
echism, and  try  by  prayer  to  soothe  her  per- 
turbed spirit.  You  accuse  me  of  wrong. 
You  are  mistaken  and  have  no  proof.  I 
have  the  proof  on  my  side.  She  is  my  wife. 
She  belongs  to  me.  Moreover,  she  is  an  in- 
valid, and  doubly  under  my  protection.  She 
cannot  testify  for  herself.  She  has  been  de- 
clared insane,  and  therefore  she  can  give  no 
evidence.  I  am  her  guardian  in  the  eyes  of 
the  law.  You  have  no  rights  that  can  be 
respected.  You  are  outlaws,  'and  you  are 
infidels." 

"Is  there  noway  to  blast  this  sham?" 
said  Charlie. 

"  What  an  infernal  cunning  I"  said  Paddie. 
"An  admirable  piece  of  deviltry!  I  begin 
to  respect  the  deacon.  He  certainly  has 
brains." 

"I  don't  suppose  that  you  are  carried 
away  by  this  sophistry,"  said  Charlie  to 
Sockdolliger,  "  You  must  have  some  common- 
sense.  This  is  all  a  subterfuge,  that  can  be 
destroyed  in  a  moment,  if  you  will  bring  the 
woman  to  front  this  man  and  speak  her  own 
words.  It  is  not  law  merely,  it  is  justice 
that  we  seek.  You  can  tell  whether  this 
woman  is  crazy  or  not,  and  whether  her 
story  is  true.  You  cannot  have  any  regard 
for  the  flimsy  pretensions  of  this  man,  who 
under  the  garb  of  religion  is  endeavoring  to 
perpetrate  a  horrible  crime." 

"  I  am  willing  to  leave  it  with  you,  cap'n  ?  " 
said  the  deacon,  with  a  cunning  leer.  "I 
take  my  stand  simply  upon  the  Bible.  I 
believe  in  it.  These  men  do  not,  and  there- 
fore you  cannot  trust  them.  I  am  working 
for  the  Lord.  I  am  trying  to  save  a  soul. 
My  poor  wife  would  be  lost,  if  I  did  not 
protect  her.  I  plant  myself  upon  the  law 
and  the  documents.  Here  they  are.  They 
have  the  seal  of  the  State  upon  them.  I  am 
the  representative  of  my  wife.  I  know  what 
is  best  for  her  spiritual  and  temporal  wel- 


fare. She  is  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  a  cipher, 
and  it  is  her  husband  who  must  act  in  her 
stead.  This  is  what  the  Church  says  ;  and  I 
am  sure,  cap'n,  that  you  will  not  set  yourself 
against  the  decrees  of  the  Church  and  the 
texts  of  holy  Scripture." 

"  I  shall  stand  by  you,  deacon,"  said  Sock- 
dolliger.  "Your  claim  is  valid;  your  wife 
belongs  to  you.  And,  as  a  good  Christian,  she 
ought  to  submit.  If  she  is  not  a  Christian,  I 
am  quite  confident  that  you  will  endeav<  r  to 
make  her  one,  and  thus  save  her  from  ever- 
lasting damnation.  1  believe  in  the  Bible 
and  I  believe  in  law,  and  what  the  law 
makes  right  is  right.  I  was  never  taught 
any  different.  The  Scriptures  say  that  we 
must  submit  to  the  powers  that  be,  for  they 
are  ordained  of  God." 

"Do  you  intend,"  said  Charlie,  almost 
overcome  with  surprise  and  indignation, — 
"  do  you  intend  to  permit  this  outrage,  to 
let  this  woman  be  the  helpless  prey  of  this 
man  who  has  torn  her  from  her  home,  that 
he  may  rob  her  at  his  will  ?  Can  it  be  that 
you,  born  in  a  land  of  freedom,  beneath  that 
flag,  can  tolerate  such  an  insult  to  justice  ? 
What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

"Young  man,"  said  Sockdolliger,  "you 
don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about.  You 
talk  of  freedom  and  justice:  what  are  they, 
except  you  are  first  on  the  side  of  the  law. 
So  long  as  you  are  in  a  state  of  nature, 
nothing  is  right  with  you,  and  you  don't  un- 
derstand what  duty  is.  Marriage  is  a  sacred 
thing,  and  it  binds  the  woman  to  the  man  ; 
and  the  man  is  the  head,  he  is  the  master,  he 
is  the  same  as  Christ  to  that  woman.  She 
has  nothing  to  say,  and  she  must  do  as  he 
commands.  I  cannot  interfere  between  this 
husband  and  wife.  '  What  God  hath  joined 
together  let  not  man  put  asunder.'  I  have 
confidence  in  Gooch ;  for  he  prays  every  day, 
and  he  reads  the  Holy  Word.  And  I  am  sure 
that  this  poor  woman  will  find  refuge ;  but, 
whether  she  does  or  not,  she  belongs  to  him, 
and  that  settles  it.  You  can't  see  her,  nor 
you  can't  take  her  from  this  ship." 

"  But  I  will,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  don't  leave 
but  with  her.  Out  of  my  way  I " 


96 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


Charlie  pushed  ahead.  The  deacon  was 
like  a  straw  before  him.  But  it  was  differ- 
ent with  the  sturdy  Captain  Sockdolliger. 
He  was  a  Hercules  in  strength,  and  it  was 
simply  impossible  for  Charlie  to  cope  with 
him.  He  backed  up  his  Scripture  interpre- 
tations with  enormous  physical  prowess. 

"Stand  back!  You  can't  go  down.  I 
command  this  ship.  My  word  is  law." 

"  Then,  I'll  stay  here.  I  won't  leave  the 
ship.  You  can't  get  rid  of  me,  unless  you 
kill  me." 

"  Yes,  we  can.  We  can  fling  you  over- 
board. I  don't  want  you  on  board  this  ship. 
The  sooner  you  go,  the  better." 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  Charlie. 

« I'll  make  you." 

"Try  it." 

Sockdolliger,  strong  as  he  was,  didn't  feel 
like  trying  it;  for  Charlie  was  so  furiously 
angry  that  it  was  dangerous  to  grapple  with 
him,  even  though  one  had  vastly  superior 
strength. 

So  they  stood  confronting  each  other  like 
lions  at  bay.  Both  were  in  dead  earnest. 
Sockdolliger  was  simply  acting  out  his  con- 
viction. He  was  conscientious  in  all  he  said 
and  did,  and  it  was  this  which  made  him 
such  a  mighty  antagonist  to  deal  with. 

"I  won't  leave  this  ship,"  said  Charlie. 
"She  is  here,  in  danger  and  distress.  I 
should  be  a  coward  to  leave  her." 

"  I  don't  see  any  other  course,"  said  Pad- 
die.  "The  deacon  has  the  grip  on  us  this 
time,  and  we  must  retreat.  The  captain  is 
absolute  master  here.  We  can't  use  coercion : 
we  must  use  our  brains.  Gooch  is  playing 
a  skilful  game  with  his  devilish  long  head. 
There's  a  way  out  of  this,  I  know.  But  we 
must  take  a  new  start,  and  think  deeply. 
There  was  never  anything  worked  by  hu- 
man ingenuity  that  cannot  be  circumvented 
by  human  ingenuity.  Let's  go  back,  and 
find  out  how  to  do  it." 

"  This  is  so  hard,"  said  Charlie, — "  to  be  so 
near,  yet  not  to  see  her  or  to  save  her !  Oh, 
the  cruelty  of  law  that  can  be  made  the 
instrument  of  such  awful  tyranny  1  Over 
land  and  sea,  it  reaches  its  arm  for  the 


preservation  of  justice;  and  yet  how  often 
it  becomes  the  upholder  of  oppression,  and 
the  heart  sinks  beneath  its  bl  w.  I  will  fol- 
low this  man,  until  he  is  compelled  to  yield 
his  victim;  and,  if  he  injures  her,  then  I 
will  kill  him.  Do  you  hear  that,  Gooch  ? 
You  shall  not  escape  me,  though  you  sail 
round  the  whole  globe.  She  shall  be  mine, 
for  she  is  my  life.  If  you  dare  to  touch  her, 
I  will  sheathe  this  knife  in  your  heart.  You 
cannot  always  be  as  safe  as  you  are  now. 
You  cannot  always  find  fools  and  bigots  to 
defend  you  and  flout  justice." 

"I  shall  pray  for  you,"  said  the  deacon. 
"  I  see  that  you  are  in  a  very  bad  state  of 
mind.  I  wish  you  would  read  this  tract, 
'  Let  not  your  angry  passions  rise.'  Remem- 
ber the  text,  'Blessed  are  the  meek,  for 
they  shall  inherit  the  earth.'  I  am  afraid 
you  will  lose  that  inheritance.  However, 
'Long  as  the  lamp  holds  out  to  burn,  the 
vilest  sinner  may  return.'  " 

"  What  a  saintly  disposition  you  have," 
said  Sockdolliger,  "so  soft  and  lamb-like! 
How  gladly  you  would  convert  all  these 
poor  sinners!  I  am  rejoiced  to  be  rid  of 
them,  though  I  should  like  to  repeat  a  little 
more  Scripture  for  their  edification." 

Charlie  and  his  stanch  little  crew  had  to 
return  with  melancholy  faces.  Slowly,  they 
pulled  back  to  the  "  Albatross." 

"I  expect  we'll  have  to  rely  on  the  doc- 
tor," said  Paddie.  "My  wits  have  gone  a 
wool-gathering.  I  can't  imagine  any  way 
out  of  this  difficulty.  Sockdolliger  is  a 
stubborn  fact,  which  you  can't  go  round  or 
over.  It  is  strange  that  one  can  hold  these 
foolish  opinions  with  such  grim  intensity." 

CHAPTEB  XXIV. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  lost  the  battle," 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  met  them  at  the  ship's 
side. 

"  We  have,"  said  Charlie.  "  With  victory 
in  our  very  grasp,  we  have  been  obliged  to 
retreat." 

"  Didn't  you  find  the  lady?  " 

"Yes;  but  in  the  clutches  of  a  greater 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


97 


monster  than  Gooch  himself, —  namely,  law, 
that,  like  an  invisible  giant,  drives  us  off." 

"  That  deacon  of  yours  must  be  deucedly 
cunning." 

"  Indeed,  he  is  a  veritable  Mephistopheles. 
In  some  strange  way,  by  force  and  fraud,  he 
has  been  through  some  form  of  a  marriage 
ceremony  with  Blanche.  Therefore,  in  law, 
she  is  his  wife.  To  bind  her  still  closer,  and 
condemn  her  to  eternal  silence  in  her  own 
defence,  he  has  the  certificate  of  two  phy- 
sicians that  she  is  insane. 

"  Through  these  legal  instruments,  he  has 
the  most  perfect  control  over  her  body ;  and 
it  happens  that  the  captain  of  the  'Betsy 
Jane,'  who  is  a  Down-East  theologian,  born 
in  the  very  bosom  of  Orthodoxy,  sticks  to  the 
letter  of  the  law.  He  holds  the  heathenish 
nonsense  that  the  wife  must  obey  the  hus- 
band, and  he  won't  even  give  us  a  chance 
to  see  Blanche.  Gooch  is  her  protector  ac- 
cording to  Sockdolliger,  and  Sockdolliger  is 
master  of  the  ship.  So  what  can  we  do  ?  I 
had  no  idea  that  law  could  be  turned  to 
such  a  curse.  I  believe  that  it  was  decided 
not  to  have  any  lawyers  in  the  model  king- 
dom of  Utopia,  and  I  don't  wonder.  It 
seems  a  question  if  there  is  not  more  ras- 
cality committed  through  law  than  in  viola- 
tion of  it." 

"  It's  cunning  against  cunning,"  said  the 
doctor;  "and  justice  generally  goes  by  the 
board.  In  old  times,  it  was  the  strongest 
arm :  now,  it  is  the  keenest  brain." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  What  cunning  can 
avail  now  ?  The  courts  of  law  are  absent, 
and  we  can  have  no  habeas  corpus" 

"Law  has  exhausted  itself  in  favor  of 
Gooch,  and  there's  nothing  left  to  which  you 
can  appeal.  You  are  pretty  thoroughly 
checkmated." 

" But,"  said  Paddie^  "there  must  be  a  way 
out  of  it.  It's  a  Chinese  puzzle,  but  it  can 
be  solved." 

"  Solved  when  it  is  too  late,"  said  Charlie. 
"  We  can't  always  keep  close  to  the  *  Betsy 
Jane.'  The  moment  a  breeze  springs  up, 
he's  off.  We  may  follow ;  but,  wherever  we 
go,  Gooch  has  the  same  advantage.  If  we 


once  had  Blanche  in  possession,  we  could 
defy  him, —  for  possession  is  nine  points  of 
law, —  but  now  she  is  in  a  Bastile,  and  the 
deacon  has  got  the  key." 

"  He  has  one  key,  I  grant,"  said  the  doc- 
tor ;  "  but  I  have  another." 

"  You  I  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  can 
unlock  the  prison  doors,  and  in  spite  of  law 
and  gospel  make  her  free  ?  " 

"  That  I  can  do.  As  Paddie  says,  there's 
a  way  out  of  it.  What  man  can  invent, 
man  can  circumvent.  We  are  dealing 
with  human  beings;  and  they  cannot  be 
so  shrewd,  but  somebody  can  be  more  so. 
The  evil  is  not  so  wise  as  the  good." 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  am  discouraged," 
said  Charlie.  "I  can  see  no  possible  re- 
source." 

"  We  appeal  to  nature,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  and  we  call  to  our  aid  her  infinite  means." 

"  Nature  is  vast,  I  grant ;  but  she  is  bound 
in  iron  law." 

"Law  is  not  iron  altogether.  We  can 
make  it  flow  to  wondrous  results.  Through 
law  and  nature,  we  can  transcend  nature. 
I  can  lay  your  beauteous  mistress  at  your 
feet,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  You  are  wise,  I  know.  You  have  pene- 
trated many  a  secret,  but  this  seems  more 
than  any  knowledge  can  attain.  What  ally 
have  you  ?  " 

"  Science,"  said  the  doctor,  enthusiasti- 
cally, with  burning  eyes.  "  Have  I  not  fol- 
lowed it  for  many  a  day  and  many  a  year? 
Is  it  not  the  angel  of  human  life,  patient 
and  wise  and  all-conquering?  Has  it  not 
gone  before  man  and  hewed  his  way  ?  Has 
it  not  crossed  for  him  the  boundless  ocean  ? 
Has  it  not  traversed  the  brilliant  heavens 
and  made  the  stars  his  guide,  so  that,  in  his 
wildest  wanderings,  he  can  sweep  calmly  to 
his  home,  and  even  in  the  midnight  know 
where  to  drop  his  anchor?  Has  not  sci- 
ence woven  from  the  floating  vapor  a  giant 
mightier  than  any  God  to  toil  day  and 
night  ?  Has  it  not  trod  the  heights  of  the 
mountains  and  the  depths  of  the  sea? 
Has  it  not  prophesied  of  the  wind  and 
the  cloud  ?  Has  it  not  made  the  lightning 


98 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


our  gentle  messenger  ?  Has  it  not  borne  the 
human  voice  in  its  dainty  fingers  until 
the  whispered  word  is  heard  farther  than 
the  loudest  thunder  ?  Has  it  not  wreathed 
two  thousand  constellations  about  its  ample 
brow?  What  is  there  mightier  or  more 
subtile  than  science?  What  has  it  not 
accomplished,  what  will  it  not  accomplish  ? 
What  Canute  can  say  to  it,  '  Thus  far,  and 
no  farther'?" 

"  All  this  is  true.  I  grant  the  marvel  of 
science,  but  what  can  it  do  for  us  in  this 
difficulty?" 

"  It  can  do  all." 

"  I  am  amazed  I     Explain." 

"  Have  you.  read  Shakspere  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  Well,  part  of  our  plot  must  come  from 
him :  we  must  resort  to  the  apothecary." 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

"Don't  you  remember  that  Juliet  took  a 
little  powder,  and  thereby  apparently  died." 

"  I  do ;  but  the  plot  failed." 

"  We  will  be  more  careful,  and  learn  from 
that  failure  to  win  success." 

"  But  how  success  ?  If  by  any  means  this 
powder  can  be  administered,  that  makes  for 
the  time  being  the  semblance  of  death, 
Blanche  is  thrown  into  the  sea,  and  there 
she  will  surely  drown." 

"  No,  we  won't  let  her."      , 

"How  prevent?" 

"  She  will  not  drown  or  suffer  any  danger, 
scarcely,  for  half  an  hour.  Before  that  time, 
she  will  be  on  board  the  '  Albatross,'  and  in 
twenty-four  hours  as  lively  as  a  cricket." 

"This  is  a  marvel,  indeed.  I  can  see  a 
glimmer  of  a  possibility,  but  scarcely  a 
chance  of  realization." 

"  To  administer  the  powder  is  easy  enough. 
It  will  give  her  the  very  image  of  death,  even 
like  the  lovely  Juliet.  Then,  as  you  say,  she 
will  be  thrown  into  the  sea.  We  shall  be 
ready  to  receive  her  in  those  liquid  halls,  and 
bear  her  to  a  safe  and  honorable  couch. 
Follow  me." 

They  went  down  into  the  doctor's  little 
cabin. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  the  little  powder.    It 


was  given  to  me  by  a  celebrated  chemist. 
Its  action  is  wonderful.  It  simply  arrests 
life,  and  one  becomes  like  marble.  Now  for 
our  armor  wherewith  to  battle  with  the 
deep." 

He  opened  a  huge  box,  and  brought  forth 
therefrom  two  grotesquely  shaped  rubber 
suits,  with  complicated  machinery  about  the 
head-gear.  They  were  made  of  very  strong 
and  elastic  material. 

"See  how  this  is  arranged,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  This  is  for  ventilating  purposes. 
These  little  tubes  are  slight,  yet  strong 
as  iron.  They  will  stretch  for  the  length 
of  a  mile,  and  through  them  one  can 
have  a  constant  supply  of  fresh  air,  the 
amount  of  which  can  be  regulated  by  this 
nut,  so  that  there  can  be  no  danger  of  suffo- 
cation. I  myself  have  been  in  the  sea  for  an 
hour  at  a  time,  as  the  captain  will  testify. 
He  understands  the  operation  of  the  air  ma- 
chinery, one  part  of  which  is  on  board  the 
vessel.  Besides,  I  have  little  air  reservoirs 
all  over  the  armor ;  these  can  be  filled  and 
emptied  at  will,  so  that  we  can  ascend  and 
descend.  Through  these  also,  we  can  supply 
ourselves  with  air,  if  at  any  time  the  tubes 
should  be  at  fault.  Thus,  you  see  that 
science  gives  us  victory  over  the  sea;  and 
we  can  travel  through  its  depths.  We  might 
chloroform  a  shark  and  catch  him  alive.  We. 
can  be  sea-gods,  and  behold  innumerable 
curiosities  where  never  foot  of  man  has 
trod.  If  we  could  catch  a  fish,  even  so 
could  we  carry  a  human  body  safely  to  the 
'  Albatross.'  I  have  also  a  rubber  mask. 
It  can  be  placed  over  the  face,  and  no  more 
water  will  be  swallowed.  So  there  is  but 
little  chance  of  drowning." 

"  This  is  a  daring  speculation.  Can  it 
possibly  be  carried  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  have  courage.  Do  you  dare 
to  venture  in  this  armor  into  the  dark  and 
slimy  caverns  of  the  sea  ?  " 

"  Dare !  "  said  Charlie.  "  I  dare  anything 
if  I  could  but  save  her  in  the  end,  but  it 
seems  hopeless  still.  If  successful  at  one 
point,  I  fear  disaster  at  another." 

"  There  are  two  suits.    I  will  go  with  you," 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


99 


said  the  doctor.  "  You  can  easily  learn  how 
to  handle  yourself.  It  requires  presence  of 
inind,  coolness,  and  determination.  You  will 
admit  that,  if  Blanche  were  in  the  sea,  we 
could  carry  her  safely  to  the  'Albatross,' 
so  long  as  the  ocean  is  calm.  The  problem 
is  for  Blanche  to  get  into  the  sea,  not  for  us 
to  get  her  out." 

"  I  see.  So  far  the  path  is  clear.  I  am 
not  afraid ;  but  there's  a  terrible  risk.  Can 
you  trust  this  potion?" 

"I  can.  I  took  it  myself  once.  It  is 
harmless." 

"  They  would  throw  Blanche  into  the  sea. 
It  seems  horrible." 

"  But  we  shall  be  in  the  sea.  Instantly, 
almost,  we  can  bear  her  to  our  ship." 

"  It  must  be  done.  Yet  how  awful  it  seems 
that  we  shall  thus  toy  with  death  and  the 
seal  It  is  a  dreadful  alternative.  And 
Blanche,  will  she  dare  to  do  it  ?  Can  she  do 
it?  Can  I  communicate  with  her?" 

"  That's  the  rub,"  said  the  doctor.  "You 
must  do  it  somehow." 

"  I  will  do  it  this  very  night.  She  shall 
know  what  we  are  willing  to  do ;  and,  if  she 
dares  to  traverse  this  gloomy  path  to  liberty, 
we  will  lead  her  through.  Orpheus  went 
down  to  hell  for  his  wife.  This  seems  like  it." 

The  doctor  was  almost  gay  in  the  contem- 
plation of  the  terrible  adventure.  It  suited 
his  daring  and  original  mind.  He  had  no 
doubt  of  success.  He  went  to  work  at  once 
to  furbish  up  his  suits  of  armor,  and  to  pre- 
pare for  active  service  in  the  liquid  fields  of 
war. 

"  This  warms  my  blood,"  said  he.  "  I've 
been  longing  for  something  like  it, —  the  im- 
possible,— and  it  has  come  at  last.  I  knew 
I  didn't  invent  this  machine  for  nothing. 
Everything  comes  into  play  some  time,  and 
now  that  over  which  I  have  spent  the  best 
part  of  my  life  takes  its  place  among  the 
useful  forces.  It  is  no  longer  a  dream.  It 
has  been  my  favorite  fancy  that  we  could 
live  in  the  sea,  camp  out  in  it.  What  a  de- 
lightful summer  residence,  no  mosquitoes 
and  plenty  of  fish  at  your  very  door  1 " 

Charlie  did  not  look  at  it  with  such  sci- 


entific enthusiasm.  To  him,  it  was  a  thing 
of  life  and  death.  The  more  he  thought  of 
it,  however,  the  more  easy  the  feat  appeared 
of  accomplishment.  Why  not?  Daring  ones 
had  already  plunged  into  the  bosom  of  the 
deep  and  walked  through  its  mysterious 
chambers.  He  could  do  it  also. 

But  to  communicate  with  Blanche, —  this 
was  the  next  step;  and  would  she  dare  to 
give  herself  up  to  the  awful  and  tremendous 
embrace  of  that  monster  whose  arms  encir- 
cled continents  and  in  whose  breast  were  ten 
thousand  voracious  slayers  of  man  ? 

"I  must  trust  to  my  star,  rny  destiny, 
whatever  it  is,"  he  said, "  that  helps  us  when 
we  can  no  longer  help  ourselves.  I  will  do 
all  I  can, —  dare  the  billows  and  the  image  of 
death,  and  deserve  success,  even  if  I  do  not 
win  it.  To-night,  I  must  take  the  key  of 
freedom  to  Blanche.  If  she  accepts  it,  she 
shall  find  me  by  the  open  door  to  save  her 
from  every  peril." 

He  wrote  as  follows :  — 

Dear  Blanche, —  I  have  followed  you.  Your 
enemy  has  woven  a  strange  web,  and  we  most  re- 
sort to  desperate  measures  to  release  you.  How 
careless  I  have  been !  Why  did  I  leave  you ! 
Forgive  me,  and  trust  me  for  all  that  mortal  man 
can  do  to  save  you  from  the  clutches  of  this 
fiend.  You  are  aware  of  the  power  he  professes 
to  have  over  you,  and  with  what  cunning  he 
wields  it.  We  were  on  board  your  ship  to-day. 
I  asked  to  see  you  and  demanded  your  liberty, 
but  was  denied  on  the  ground  that  you  were  the 
legal  wife  of  Gooch.  I  do  not  know  how  he 
managed  to  possess  you.  This  will  be  discovered 
hereafter.  But  to  our  means  of  escape.  The 
way  seems  perilous,  and  yet  with  courage  I  think 
there  is  no  doubt  of  success.  At  any  rate,  we 
must  dare  fate,  if  we  would  win  freedom.  In  this 
letter,  you  will  find  a  powder.  Take  it,  and  it 
will  put  yon  into  a  deep  sleep,  so  like  the  sem- 
blance of  death  that  it  will  be  taken  for  death 
and  you  will  be  buried  in  the  sea.  Do  you  shrink 
from  this  ?  I  shall  be  in  the  sea  to  bear  you  to  a 
place  of  safety.  There  is  a  doctor  with  me  of 
great  genius  and  learning ;  and  he  has  invented 
sea  armors,  in  which  we  can  clothe  ourselves  and 
walk  through  the  sea,  and  remain  in  it  from  three 
to  four  hours.  I  have  examined  the  armors,  and 
am  satisfied  that  we  can  use  them.  The  doctor 


100 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


himself  is  bold  beyond  measure,  and  will  accom- 
pany me  in  my  ocean  journey.  Such  is  the  out- 
line. On  our  part  there  will  be  no  failure.  I 
will  not  urge,  for  it  is  a  fearful  undertaking. 
Your  lover  is  ready  for  anything.  If  you  do  not 
venture  this  plan,  know  that  I  shall  follow  yon 
unto  deliverance.  Take  counsel  with  your  best 
and  bravest  heart  and  hope,  and  do  that  which 
you  believe  to  be  for  your  honor  and  liberty. 

Yours  lovingly, 

CHARLES. 

The  doctor  furnished  Morton  with  an 
india-rubber  casket  in  which  to  enclose  the 
letter  and  the  powder. 

"You  can  swim  a  thousand  miles,  and 
they  will  be  uninjured.  If  you  can  get 
these  into  her  hands,  all  is  well.  That  is 
for  you  to  accomplish ;  and  I  must  say  that 
you  are  a  very  poor  lover,  if  you  don't  do  it. 
I  know  science  by  experiment.  I  know  love 
only  by  speculation,  but  I  know  that  it  is 
even  more  potent  than  science.  There  is 
nothing  that  it  cannot  do.  It  has  made  and 
unmade  armies.  It  has  built  and  destroyed 
empires.  It  has  traversed  the  wide  world 
and  flung  roses  over  many  a  wilderness.  It 
has  borne  the  fainting  soul  through  a  thou- 
sand deserts.  It  has  touched  many  a  rock, 
and  the  sparkling  fountains  have  burst 
forth.  The  lover  is  the  hero.  He  descends 
to  hell,  and  he  climbs  to  heaven.  Love  has 
belted  the  earth  with  jewels.  Love  only  is 
immortal  over  death.  I  know  that  you  will 
touch  the  hand  of  your  mistress ;  for,  if  you 
love  her,  nothing  can  keep  you  apart.  I 
bring  thee  science;  but  what  would  my 
cunning  be  without  thy  burning  heart 
of  love?" 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  sea  was  still  as  glass.  The  stars 
shone  above;  and,  jewelled  in  the  depths, 
they  seemed  to  have  an  added  brilliancy. 
One  would  think  that  beneath  the  shining 
surface  there  were  nothing  but  beauty  and 
glory,  lustrous  halls  where  the  spirit  might 
forever  revel  in  delight. 

Morton  dropped  into  the  sea.  He  was  a 
strong  swimmer,  and  could  easily  make  his 


way  from  the  "Albatross"  to  the  "Betsy 
Jane,"  which  was  lying  only  half  a  mile  off. 
It  was  midnight  when  he  undertook  his  per- 
ilous journey.  There  was  hardly  a  sound 
on  board  the  ship  as  he  neared  it.  He  was 
pretty  certain  as  to  where  Blanche  was  lo- 
cated; for  in  his  intense  watching,  hour 
by  hour  during  the  previous  day,  he  had 
caught  the  flutter  of  a  white  handkerchief, 
and,  whether  rightly  or  wrongly,  had  inter- 
preted this  as  a  signal  from  his  mistress. 

Silently,  he  floated  under  the  bows  of 
"Betsy  Jane,"  and  in  a  low,  soft  voice 
began  to  sing, —  so  low  and  soft  that  the 
superstitious  sailor  might  imagine  that  it 
came  out  of  the  depths  of  the  sea,  from 
the  lips  of  some  mermaid.  The  song  that 
he  sang  was  the  wild  Scottish  melody  taught 
him  by  Blanche,  and  the  words  were  those 
of  her  own  composing.  He  remembered 
them;  and  now  the  notes  and  the  words 
held  in  his  heart  burst  forth  beneath  the 
window  of  Blanche's  cabin :  — 

"  Love  tosses  on  a  darkling  sea, 
Where  wild  winds  breathe  their  melody. 
The  rolling  billows  give  no  rest : 
Love  finds  the  same  within  its  breast; 
And  so  it  yearns  for  some  sweet  shore, 
Where  life  shall  bloom  for  evermore. 

"  Love  like  a  pilgrim  roams  afar, 
And  watches  every  changing  star, 
And  gathers  every  radiant  flower 
And  sees  it  fade  with  summer's  hour; 
And  so  it  yearns  for  that  deep  home, 
Where  nothing  fades  and  naught  doth  roam." 

I  wonder  if  Sockdolliger  or  Gooch  heard 
that  song,  as,  like  a  timid  bird,  it  crept  and 
then  flew  into  Blanche's  room.  If  they  did, 
they  little  realized  its  meaning,—  that  it  was 
a  subtle  link  whereby  two  lovers  talked,  in 
spite  of  the  rude  impediments  which  the 
bigotry  of  the  one  and  the  rascality  of  the 
other  had  imposed.  Ah,  love  can  laugh  at 
chains  indeed !  Deprived  of  common  speech, 
it  voices  itself  in  a  language  of  its  own. 

The  song  mingled  harmoniously  with  the 
slow  rocking  of  the  ship;  but,  when  it 
reached  the  ear  of  love,  how  quickly  it  de- 
tached itself,  and  seemed  to  be  the  only  mel- 
ody in  the  universe ! 

As  Morton  lay  floating  on  the  glistening 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


101 


deep,  over  him  he  saw  the  flash  of  a  delicate 
white  hand  and  the  billowing  signal  of  a 
fluttering  handkerchief.  With  a  quick  mo- 
tion, he  seized  the  ropes  of  the  ship,  and 
touched  the  hand  with  a  passionate  kiss  and 
whispered, "  Courage ! "  and  left  in  its  cling- 
ing, burning  fingers  the  package  with  the 
letter  and  powder,  and  quickly  and  silently 
dropped  into  the  sea,  and  did  not  rise  to 
the  surface  until  he  was  a  hundred  feet 
away.  Not  the  sharpest  sentinel  could  have 
known  that  there  was  any  communication 
with  the  imprisoned  lady. 

Blanche  sank  back  into  her  bed,  and 
pressed  the  packet  to  her  lips.  The  last 
few  days  had  been  to  her  full  of  despair 
and  agony,  yet  she  had  borne  herself  with 
wonderful  courage  and  patience.  She  knew 
at  intervals  that  she  was  the  victim  of  some 
diabolical  scheme ;  but  the  deacon  kept  her 
helpless  and  in  a  wandering  and  dreamy 
state  of  mind  by  the  use  of  powerful  drugs. 
She  knew  that  she  could  escape  this  torture 
only  by  silence  and  apparent  indifference, 
and  she  had  summoned  all  her  fortitude  to 
the'  task ;  so  that  now  her  mind  was  compar- 
atively clear.  Gooch  bad  not  deemed  it  nec- 
essary while  she  was  on  board  the  ship,  and 
Sockdolliger  was  his  bulwark,  to  keep  her  in 
a  state  of  semi-insanity.  He  had  not  dared 
or  perhaps  not  cared  to  insult  her  woman- 
hood. If  he  had,  Blanche  would  have  killed 
him.  What  he  wanted  mainly  was  her  fort- 
une ;  and  this  he  was  willing  to  acquire  by 
any  easy-going  or  peaceable  measure. 

Blanche  slept  alone  with  her  maid,  who 
was  the  paid  tool  of  Gooch.  This  attendant 
was  now  in  a  profound  slumber,  and  by  the 
faint  light  of  a  candle  Blanche  was  able  to 
peruse  the  letter. 

"  It  is  as  I  thought,"  she  said ;  "  and  this 
is  the  only  way  of  escape.  I  am  not  afraid. 
I  could  do  anything.  I  had  rather  be  in  the 
depths  of  the  sea  than  here ;  and  he  will  be 
there,  he  will  be  there,  and  I  shall  be  safe. 
If  I  do  not  survive,  my  last  resting-place 
will  be  in  his  arms.  Let  me  read  this  letter 
again." 

Again  she  read  the  letter,  and  pressed  it 


to  her  lips,  and  then  she  tore  it  into  a  thou- 
sand pieces  and  flung  them  from  her  win- 
dow, and,  like  flakes  of  snow,  they  sank  into 
the  bosom  of  the  sea. 

"Hold  these  thoughts,  O  sea,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  come,  and  trust  thy  billows.  O  love, 
I  will  seek  thee,  even  in  darkness  and 
death." 

She  looked  at  the  powder  white  and  glis- 
tening in  its  tiny  wrapper. 

"This  little  powder  is  stronger  than  the 
sword  of  kings.  Not  a  thousand  can  keep 
me  from  thee,  when  I  take  this." 

She  took  a  glass  and  partly  filled  it  with 
water,  and  then  poured  in  the  sparkling  pow- 
der and  stirred  the  mixture,  and  held  it  up 
to  the  light. 

"  More  glorious  than  wine,  O  liquid  savior ! 
I  drink  to  my  immortal  love." 

Having  drunk  the  potion,  from  her  nar- 
row window  she  looked  forth  upon  the 
boundless  sky. 

"Farewell,  O  stars!  You  are  shining 
upon  my  tomb.  Grant  that  it  may  be  my 
path  to  victory.  O  softly  sounding  sea,  I 
long  for  your  embrace!  Thy  glorious 
baptism  shall  give  me  new  life." 

With  that,  she  wrapped  "  the  drapery  of 
her  couch  about  her,  and  lay  down  to  pleas- 
ant dreams." 

"  I  have  accomplished  it,"  said  Charlie,  as 
he  leaped  to  the  deck  of  the  "  Albatross." 
"  Now,  it  depends  upon  her  courage.  Will 
she  dare  to  do  it?" 

"Never  fear  that,"  said  the  doctor. 
"Woman  is  braver  than  man  in  such  cir- 
cumstances. They  are  afraid  of  nothing 
when  love  prompts." 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  to  bed  and 
sleep,"  said  Charlie ;  "  but  I  can't,  I  am  so 
agitated.  I  must  prepare  for  to-morrow. 
We  can't  depend  entirely  upon  the  spirit. 
The  body  must  be  in  its  best  condition  for 
such  a  trial  as  this." 

"  Yes,  everything  depends  on  your  steadi- 
ness and  nerve.  Take  this  powder.  It  is 
not  so  strong  as  the  other ;  but  you  will  not 
wake  until  noon,  and  then  you  will  be 
refreshed.  We  must  all  go  to  bed." 


102 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


In  a  little  while,  Morton  with  the  rest  was 
in  a  profound  slumber. 

Morning  came,  and  still  the  calm  rested 
upon  the  waters. 

At  ten  o'clock,  Captain  Furgeson  and 
Will  and  Paddie  went  over  to  the  "Betsy 
Jane."  There  was  an  unusual  excitement 
on  board. 

"The  deed  is  done,"  said  Furgeson. 
"  They  are  preparing  for  a  burial." 

Sockdolliger  greeted  them  with  a  most  sor- 
rowful countenance. 

"  We  need  not  quarrel  any  more,"  he  said : 
"  it's  all  over,  the  poor  lady  is  dead." 

"Dead?"  said  Furgeson.  "How  did  it- 
happen?" 

"  It's  a  dispensation  of  providence,"  said 
Sockdolliger.  "  I  do  hope  she  is  in  heaven." 

Sockdolliger  really  felt  bad.  Death  to 
him  was  a  dreadful  mystery  and  hell  an 
awful  reality,  and  he  was  enough  of  a  man 
to  be  tortured  by  the  thought  that  one 
soul  had  been  plunged  into  eternal  tor- 
ments. He  would  fain  believe  that  some- 
how Blanche  had  been  converted. 

"  I  think  she  is  in  heaven,"  said  Gooch. 
"  The  last  time  I  read  the  Bible  to  her,  she 
was  very  quiet.  Indeed,  I  think  she  wept. 
She  said  nothing,  but  it  may  be  hoped  that 
she  accepted  the  plan  of  salvation." 

"  It  must  be  so,"  said  Sockdolliger.  Sock- 
dolliger could  damn  by  the  wholesale  folks 
that  he  never  knew  and  did  not  care  much 
about;  but  when  it  came  right  home,  to 
one  of  his  own  ship's  passengers  for  in- 
stance, and  he  could  realize  something  of 
the  enormous  horror  of  the  doctrine,  why, 
then  he  was  ready  to  back  down  and  accept 
any  little  sign  that  the  unfortunate  sinner 
had  been  converted. 

Gooch  looked  awfully  solemn,  but  it  re- 
quired little  perception  to  see  that  it  was  an 
artificial  mourning.  Blanche's  death  really 
made  it  easier  to  carry  out  his  purposes  con- 
cerning her  fortune.  All  the  papers  were  in 
his  possession;  and,  as  her  sole  remaining 
legal  representative,  he  could  lay  claim  to 
everything.  It  did  on  this  account  seem  to 
him  a  dispensation  of  providence :  his  self- 


ishness was  so  allied  to  his  religion  that 
he  actually  imagined  himself  an  object  of 
divine  favor.  Some  are  so  accustomed  to 
their  villany  that  it  ceases  to  be  villauy  in 
their  eyes,  but  rather  justifiable,  if  not 
found  out  and  fortune  favors.  Gooch  in- 
tended, after  he  had  obtained  possession  of 
Blanche's  fortune,  to  endow  a  theological 
seminary ;  and  this  end  justified  the  means. 
He  had  thoroughly  identified  "  God  "  with 
everything  that  was  for  his  self-interest. 
He  read  the  Bible  through  the  eyes  of  his 
own  lust :  the  whole  plan  of  salvation  from 
all  eternity  was  an  arrangement  by  which 
Gooch  could  be  made  happy.  He  never 
thought  of  it  in  any  other  light :  the  com- 
mand to  leave  father  and  mother  and 
brother  and  sister  was  simply  authority  to 
let  these  take  care  of  themselves,  so  far  as 
material  things  are  concerned,  while  he 
could  be  free  to  devote  himself  to  securing 
a  harp  of  gold. 

This  was  the  sum  and  substance  of 
Gooch's  religion,  a  harp  of  gold.  If  the 
harp  had  been  of  brass,  I  don't  think  he 
would  have  been  quite  as  good  a  Christian. 
Gold,  gold, —  this  was  the  all-devouring  aim 
of  his  life;  and  Bible  and  Church  and 
regeneration  were  valuable  to  him  only  as 
they  converged  to  this  end.  He  was  ready 
to  do  anything  for  its  sake,  and  he  had  the 
wondrous  facility  of  thinking  that  all  he 
did  for  himself  he  did  for  the  Lord.  Hence, 
he  could  commit  a  crime  without  a  qualm 
of  conscience.  He  was  as  cold  as  a  lizard. 
Nothing  could  touch  him.  The  apparent 
death  of  Blanche  had  no  perceptible  effect. 
He  did  not  care  for  her  only  as  she  was 
an  instrumentality  to  the  acquirement  of 
wealth  ;  and,  since  her  death  gave  him  more 
complete  sway,  he  had  only  a  mechanical 
and  outside  sorrow  in  view  of  it. 

"The  burial  will  be  at  two  o'clock  this 
afternoon,"  said  Sockdolliger.  "Will  you 
remain,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Paddie  and  Will. 

"  I  must  return,"  said  Captain  Furgeson. 

"  It's  all  over  with,"  said  Paddie  to  the 
deacon  after  Furgeson  had  departed  for  his 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


own  ship,  "  and  there's  no  need  of  quarrel- 
ling ;  but,  really,  I  do  not  understand  your 
marriage.  It  was  sadden,  wasn't  it?  " 

Paddie  was  somewhat  of  a  diplomatist, 
and  he  was  determined  to  find  out  a  thing 
or  two. 

"  It  was  rather  sudden,"  said  the  deacon ; 
"  but  it  was  kind  o'  natural,  after  all.  We 
were  cousins." 

"  That's  news,"  said  Paddie. 

"  Not  very  near  cousins.  My  mother  was 
a,  Kennedy.  You  see  there  was  a  big  fort- 
une in  England  for  the  Kennedys,  and  I 
reckon  to  come  into  it  through  my  mother's 
rights ;  but  she  was  heir  after  William  and 
Ralph  Kennedy,  and  I  found  by  inquiry 
that  Miss  Blanche  was  the  heir  of  both. 
You  see  there  was  a  conflict.  I  thought  the 
best  way  to  settle  the  matter  was  to  marry 
Blanche.  There'd  be  no  lawsuit  then,  and 
we  could  both  enjoy  the  fortune." 

"  Did  Blanche  accede  to  this  arrange- 
ment?" 

"  She  didn't  understand  it  as  well  as  I  did, 
but  finally  I  persuaded  her." 

"  But  the  fortune  was  hers  anyway." 

"  Yes,  legally.  I  could  have  made  trouble, 
though ;  for  it  didn't  seem  right  to  come  so 
near  having  a  fortune  and  not  have  it.  You 
see,  if  she  had  been  dead,  the  fortune  would 
have  been  mine." 

"  So  you  thought  you  would  kill  her  by 
marrying  her?" 

"I  was  willing  she  should  live;  but  I 
knew  she  didn't  need  the  money,  and 
wouldn't  use  it  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord  as 
I  would.  I'm  sorry  she's  dead,  but  I  acted 
for  the  best." 

"You'll  go  to  England  then?" 

"  Yes,  there's  about  a  million  dollars  com- 
ing. I  shall  give  a  hundred  thousand  to  the 
Church." 

"Didn't  you  know  that  Morton  was  en- 
gaged to  Blanche?" 

"I  rather  thought  so;  and  I  felt  it  my 
duty  to  save  her.  Morton  wouldn't  give  a 
cent  of  money  to  the  Church.  I  married 
her,  in  order  that  the  Lord  might  get  her 
money.  It  wasn't  for  myself  that  I  cared, 


but  for  the  welfare  of  Zion.  Our  church  at 
Scooptown  needs  a  new  bell ;  and  the  people 
talk  of  starting  a  missionary  seminary  there, 
in  order  to  educate  young  men  to  preach  the 
gospel  to  the  heathen,  and  I  was  anxious  to 
endow  a  professorship.  You  see  how  much 
good  I  can  do  with  the  money." 

"  Did  Blanche  think  as  you  did?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  I  think  she  would  in 
time.  She  seemed  to  hate  me  and  religion 
and  every  thing  that  was  good.  She  was 
wilful.  I  made  out  by  the  exercise  of  a  little 
parental  authority  to  marry  her.  Gradually, 
she  was  becoming  subdued.  She  seemed  to 
feel  the  force  of  my  remarks.  If  she  had 
lived,  I  think  she  would  have  become  a 
bright  and  shining  light." 

"  What  a  phenomenal  hypocrite  the  dea- 
con is ! "  said  Paddie  to  Will,  as  they  saun- 
tered alone  to  the  ship's  side.  "He  can 
cover  rascality  with  the  slime  of  his  the- 
ology, and  swallow  it  whole.  He  could 
easily  convince  himself  that  it  was  right  to 
kill  you  or  me,  if  by  so  doing  five  cents  could 
be  put  into  the  treasury  of  the  Lord." 

"  He  is  that  monstrous  thing,"  said  Will, 
"which  only  Orthodoxy  can  produce, —  a  hyp- 
ocrite and  a  rogue,  who  finds  in  the  pages 
of  an  inspired  book  justification  for  every 
act  he  can  commit.  Of  all  crime,  inspired 
crime  is  the  worst.  It  has  no  conscience, 
and  it  is  incapable  of  remorse.  It  can  wield 
the  knife  of  the  assassin,  and  glory  in  the 
deed.  Does  not  Orthodoxy  justify  even  mur- 
der for  the  glory  of  its  God?  Is  it  strange, 
then,  that  the  greatest  acts  of  wrong-doing 
should  take  upon  them  a  divine  sanction, 
and  appear  meritorious?  This  innate  sav- 
agery of  Orthodoxy  breaks  out  at  times,  and 
we  see  its  terrible  result  in  the  red  hand  of 
murder,  a  father  slaying  his  own  child. 
This  is  the  legitimate  result  of  the  old  belief 
in  miracles  and  inspiration.  It  is  softened 
and  defeated,  I  grant,  in  many  noble  and 
beautiful  natures,  that,  clinging  to  Ortho- 
doxy with  a  sort  of  intellectual  blindness 
and  weakness,  are  yet  trained  and  developed 
by  higher  ideas.  They  do  walk  somewhat 
in  the  light  of  science.  But  in  wholly  igno- 


104 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


rant  minds  we  see  the  logic  of  Orthodoxy ; 
and  what  is  it  but  murder  and  assassina- 
tion, finding  its  impulse  in  a  so-called  di- 
vine voice,  within  which  is  only  the  name 
for  a  fierce  animal  passion.  The  Bible  has 
justified  every  crime ;  and  it  needs  no  stretch 
of  logic  for  a  man  like  Gooch,  intensely  self- 
ish, to  find  authority  for  any  wrong  that 
will  improve  his  chances,  and  so  add  to  the 
coffers  of  his  divinity.  I  expect  that  Gooch 
believes  himself  to  be  a  sort  of  ambassador 
of  God,  and  so  is  capable  of  committing 
any  crime  in  his  Deity's  name.  Christianity 
should  not  disown  Gooch,  when  at  last  the 
halter  is  drawn  about  his  neck.  He  is  the 
creature  of  its  own  teachings." 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CAPTAIN  FURGESON  returned  to  the 
"Albatross,"  and  reported  the  situation 
of  affairs. 

"I'm  ready,"  said  the  doctor.  "Morton 
will  be  awake  in  a  few  minutes,  and  in 
prime  condition.  We  couldn't  have  a  better 
day.  The  sea  is  clear  as  glass,  and  we  can 
walk  through  it  as  easily  as  through  a 
meadow.  The  machinery  is  fixed,  and 
you  know  how  to  give  us  air.  Work  slow 
and  sure." 

Morton  was  soon  awake.  When  told,  he 
cried : — 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  How  brave  she  is  I 
Now,  we  must  show  our  spirit;  and  all 
will  be  well." 

"  Keep  cool,"  said  the  doctor.  "  We  must 
not  hurry.  Put  your  suit  on." 

The  grotesque  suits  were  put  on,  and 
Morton  and  the  doctor  looked  like  a  couple 
of  immense  ghouls  with  enormous  eyes. 

"  You  see,  I've  arranged  a  little  compass 
in  my  hand,  and  so  can  direct  our  course. 
We  shan't  fail  to  strike  the  *  Betsy  Jane ' 
by  the  shortest  path.  Then,  I've  a  few  tor- 
pedoes tucked  away ;  and,  if  bigger  fish  than 
we  attack  us,  we  can  give  them  more  than 
they  bargain  for  with  these  little  cannon." 

Morton  went  to  his  task  with  a  deter- 
mined spirit.  He  had  not  a  particle  of  fear, 
and  he  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  dis- 


turbed even  by  the  momentous  results  that 
might  happen.  Placed  in  such  new  and 
strange  circumstances,  about  to  undertake 
what  had  never  yet  been  accomplished  even 
by  the  most  daring,  he  faced  the  tremendous 
journey  with  scarcely  a  tremor.  He  meant 
to  succeed,  if  it  lay  within  human  power; 
and  he  knew  that  only  the  utmost  steadiness 
could  carry  him  safely  along. 

All  was  ready ;  and  they  were  lowered  into 
the  sea,  and  sank  into  its  profound  bosom. 
The  waters  closed  over  them,  and  soon  not  a 
ripple  was  seen. 

They  were  in  the  awful  depths.  They 
could  communicate  with  each  other  only  by 
slow  and  awkward  signs.  Down  they  sank, 
"until  they  were  a  hundred  feet  below 
the  surface.  Above,  they  could  behold  a 
confused  and  most  dazzling  light,  and  occa- 
sionally coruscating  colors  with  infinite  va- 
riety of  movement.  Fishes  glided  by,  and 
hardly  seemed  to  notice  them,  any  more 
than  they  were  familiar  monsters  of  the  sea. 
Around  rolled  ever  the  thunder  of  the  deep. 
Slowly,  very  slowly,  they  advanced,  as  if  they 
were  climbing  an  immense  hill.  The  route 
appeared  interminable,  for  there  was  nothing 
by  which  to  mark  the  way.  The  doctor, 
however,  advanced  as  if  guided  by  an  unerr- 
ing instinct.  He  seemed  to  be  at  home 
amid  the  untravelled  waters.  As  he  turned 
to  his  companion,  his  eyes  looked  like  two 
blazing  balls.  He  was  like  a  huge  giant 
hewing  his  way  through  the  liquid  wilder- 
ness. Morton  followed  with  firm  step.  He 
met  all  the  horrors  of  the  deep  with  un- 
flinching gaze. 

At  length,  the  doctor  signalled  a  halt. 
They  rose  by  pressing  the  air-valves,  and 
found  that  they  were  just  beneath  the  "  Betsy 
Jane,"  which  like  a  great  planet  rolled  and 
heaved  in  the  midst  of  a  sheet  of  light. 
The  top  of  the  sea  flashed  over  them  like  a 
brilliant  firmament ;  and  intense  and  splen- 
did hues  chased  each  other  with  myriad 
evolutions,  while  beneath  stretched  an 
awful  and  unsounded  darkness.  Here,  they 
remained,  waiting  for  the  prize  to  drop  from 
the  sparkling  firmament  above. 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


105 


All  on  board  the  "  Betsy  Jane  "  gathered  to 
listen  to  the  funeral  service.  Burnham  and 
McConnell  were  there,  watching  with  intent 
gaze  the  silent  form,  wondering  if  indeed 
the  spirit  were  in  the  mask  or  in  the  reality 
of  death,  so  veritable  it  all  seemed  and  so 
like  a  dream. 

Captain  Sockdolliger  read  the  burial  ser- 
vice, the  grotesque  yet  wonderfully  eloquent 
passages  from  St.  Paul.  It  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  he  read  them  with  solemn  and 
beautiful  effect,  for  he  profoundly  believed 
every  word  that  he  uttered.  He  had  un- 
doubting  faith  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
body, —  that  all  would  come  forth  from  the 
sea  and  land  some  day  at  the  trump  of  the 
archangel,  and  Christ  would  appear  in  the 
glory  of  heayen,  and  the  millions  would  con- 
gregate about  his  throne.  So,  with  sad  in- 
tensity, he  read  the  Scriptures,  and  flung 
over  the  scene  the  weird  fascination  of  the 
ancient  faith. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and 
the  Holy  Spirit,  we  commit  this  body  to 
the  sea.  In  the  last  great  day,  it  shall  rise 
again;  for  the  sea  shall  give  up  its  dead, 
and  there  shall  be  no  more  sea,  for  God 
shall  reign  forever  and  ever,  Amen." 

Then  the  body  was  gently  taken  and 
lowered  over  the  side  of  the  ship,  and  with 
a  prayer  from  the  heart  even  of  the  roughest 
sailor  it  was  dropped  into  the  bosom  of  the 
calm  immensity,  and  sank  from  view ;  and, 
in  a  few  moments,  the  glassy  azure  shone 
over  the  path  of  her  departure  with  scarcely 
a  ripple. 

"  Gone  I "  said  Will,  as  he  bent  over  the 
ship's  side.  "  I  wonder  if  our  angels  are 
there  to  save  her  to  a  nobler  heaven  than 
was  ever  dreamed  of  by  the  ancient  saints, — 
the  heaven  of  human  love." 

They  were  there, —  two  calm,  determined 
men;  and,  as  the  enshrouded  body  floated 
down,  their  strong  arms  were  placed  about 
it,  and  a  rubber  covering  folded  over  her 
head  and  breast.  Then,  they  began  to  bear 
their  precious  burden  through  the  rolling 
caverns  of  the  deep,  while  every  faculty  was 
alert  to  guard  against  injury.  An  enormous 


fish,  with  glittering  scales,  as  if  each  were 
an  electric  battery,  dashed  athwart  their 
pathway.  Its  glaring  eyes  were  attracted 
by  the  white  body,  and  it  wheeled  about  as 
if  to  seize  it ;  but  the  doctor  skilfully  flung 
one  of  his  torpedoes,  which  exploded  with 
mimic  thunder;  and  the  unexpected  noise 
and  tumult  caused  the  huge  animal  to  turn, 
and,  like  a  comet  with  light  flashing  from 
every  part  of  his  mobile  mass,  he  plunged 
into  the  outermost  darkness.  Safely,  they 
continued  their  course,  and  with  wondrous 
patience  and  strength  fought  their  way 
through  the  enclosing  waters  to  the  "  Alba- 
tross." They  rose  to  the  surface,  and  soon 
the  fair  body  of  Blanche  was  drawn  upon 
deck  and  placed  in  the  captain's  cabin, 
under  the  care  of  his  ready  and  skilful  wife. 
Morton  and  the  doctor  immediately  doffed 
their  dripping  garments,  and  were  greeted 
by  the  cheers  of  the  crew.  They  recuper- 
ated their  exhausted  forms  with  a  quaff  of 
brandy,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were  ready  to 
visit  their  patient. 

She  lay  upon  the  bed,  still  and  beautiful 
and  white  as  a  lily.  Was  the  "heart  of 
fire  "  within  her  yet,  or  had  it  vanished  be- 
yond the  skill  of  man  to  summon  to  trem- 
bling lip  and  eye  1  Morton  looked  upon  the 
marble  features,  he  touched  the  cheek 
so  cold,  he  kissed  the  mouth  so  calm  and 
unresponsive.  She  seemed  dead,  utterly 
rigid,  and  chained  to  the  everlasting  silence. 

"Is  she  dead,  doctor?"  he  cried.  "  I  can- 
not see  a  sign  of  life." 

For  a  moment,  the  doctor  scrutinized  her, 
as  if  his  eyes  had  the  power  of  a  microscope 
to  read  the  very  secret  of  her  motionless 
form. 

"She  will  live,"  he  said.     "She  is  but 


Gently,  they  bent  over  and  rubbed  her 
feet  and  hands.  For  a  long  while  there 
seemed  no  spark  of  heat,  no  flow  of  blood. 
Then,  about  the  temples  there  was  a  little 
flush,  and  a  faint  mist  gathered  on  the  glass 
held  to  her  lips.  Then,  slowly,  the  veins 
about  the  neck  brightened;  and  along  the 
arms  the  red  tide  fitfully  swelled,  surging  to 


106 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


the  finger-tips.  Then,  all  at  once,  a  crimson 
glow  spread  over  her  face ;  and,  with  a  deep 
sigh  and  a  quick  gasp,  she  opened  her  eyes, 
that  flashed  like  lustrous  stars,  and,  stretch- 
ing forth  her  hands,  she  was  clasped  to  the 
bosom  of  her  loved. 

"  Saved  1 "  he  cried.  "  Mine  now,  forever, 
and  forever ! " 

"  Yes,"  she  said.    "  Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  On  board  the  'Albatross/  among  friends. 
Our  plan  was  successful.  We  have  taken 
you  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and  here 
you  are  in  life  and  happiness." 

**  How  strange  it  is !  I  thought  surely  I 
was  dying  as  I  sank  down,  down  into  an 
awful  slumber,  and  I  felt  that  my  limbs 
were  growing  stiff,  and  my  blood  was  like 
ice.  What  a  terrible  adventure  1  And  I  am 
really  alive?" 

"  Yes,  you  are.  Do  you  not  feel  this  kiss  ? 
Does  it  not  assure  you  of  life  ?" 

"  It  does,  and  kiss  me  again." 

"Love  is  a  stimulant,"  said  the  doctor; 
"but  you  must  have  a  little  medicine  and 
good  nursing.  Mrs.  Furgeson  will  take  care 
of  you  for  a  while.  With  this  cordial  and 
some  nice  food,  you'll  soon  be  ready  to  go 
on  deck." 

In  an  hour  or  two,  the  transformation  was 
complete.  Mrs.  Furgeson's  dresses  were  al- 
tered by  a  little  skill  to  fit  the  form  of 
Blanche ;  and,  flushed  with  radiant  life  and 
happiness,  she  looked  as  if  just  dropped 
from  the  heavens,  a  child  of  light  and  love, 
rather  than  emerged  from  the  jaws  of  death. 

The  sun  sank  in  the  cloudless  west.  The 
innumerable  waves  tossed  against  its  golden 
orb.  A  slight  breeze  was  stirring ;  and  the 
"Albatross"  began  to  spread  its  sails,  and 
also  the  "  Betsy  Jane,"  and  slowly  the  two 
ships  drifted  apart,  and  in  a  few  hours 
seemed  like  specks  to  one  another.  It  was  a 
gorgeous  night.  The  Southern  Cross  shone 
resplendent  in  the  heavens,  the  supreme 
glory  amid  myriad  stars.  The  sea  answered 
to  the  sky  with  a  lustrous  world  of  its  own. 
It  seemed  to  be  filled  with  shining  halls  that 
stretched  far  and  far  away  into  the  remote 
darkness. 


"Wonderful!"  said  Blanche,  as  in  the 
beauteous  night  she  and  Charlie  paced  the 
deck,  gazing  upon  the  measureless  scene. 
"  And  here  I  am  like  a  queen  in  golden  halls. 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  snatched  by  fairies 
from  darkness  into  light.  Only  a  few  hours 
ago,  I  was  a  prisoner,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
and  now  I  am  free ! " 

"How  did  Gooch  do  this?  He  must 
have  schemed  day  and  night,"  said  Charlie. 

"I  understand  I  was  in  the  way  somehow. 
He  had  a  claim  upon  the  property.  He  did 
not  dare  to  murder  me  and  so  he  married 
me." 

"  But  how  could  he  do  it  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell.  My  servant  who  went 
with  me  and  is  now  on  the  *  Betsy  Jane ' 
was  bribed.  She  must,  under  his  instruc- 
tions, have  drugged  my  food  or  drink.  I 
took  my  usual  walk  that  morning,  when  I 
was  overcome  by  dizziness.  He  followed,  no 
doubt,  and  captured  me,  and  then  I  was  at 
his  mercy.  He  rushed  me  through  some 
form  of  a  marriage,  and  then  hurried  off  to 
sea." 

"Detestable  villain  1  But  we  have  out- 
witted him." 

"Yes,  but  what  power  the  evil-minded 
man  has,  what  resources  furnished  by  sci- 
ence ! " 

"  True,  but  science  gives  the  same  to  those 
who  would  defeat  him.  See  what  a  mar- 
vellous power  it  put  within  our  hands  to 
travel  through  the  deep  sea,  and  under  the 
form  of  death  bear  you  to  safety ! " 

"  I  sometimes  tremble  when  I  think  of  the 
prodigious  power  man  is  acquiring.  How 
will  he  use  it?" 

"  For  the  good.  It  must  be  so,  for  his 
greatest  triumphs  have  ever  been  won 
through  a  devotion  to  others.  Why  has  he 
penetrated  the  heavens  and  mapped  a  mill- 
ion systems?  Why  has  he  harnessed  the 
lightning  and  imprisoned  the  steam?  Not  - 
through  any  selfish  purpose,  not  for  individ- 
ual good,  but  for  the  universal.  One  could 
not  accomplish  these  merely  for  his  own 
welfare.  He  can  only  do  it  through  the  in- 
spiration that  comes  from  his  unselfish  feel- 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


107 


ing.  That  is  the  way  I  look  at  it ;  and  the 
more  man  knows  the  better  he  is,  for  in 
order  to  know  he  mast  be  actuated  by  the 
highest  desire." 

"I  see  that,  but,"  persisted  Blanche, 
';  Gooch  has  only  been  able  to  carry  out  his 
perfidious  plans  through  the  aid  of  science." 

"He  has  used  what  others  originated, 
not  himself,  and  with  low  cunning,  he  is 
a  sort  of  intellectual  monstrosity,  keen  as 
the  serpent  and  as  poisonous.  He  is  the 
spawn  of  Orthodoxy.  The  light  of  science 
<x>uld  not  make  such  a  devilish  creature. 
The  scientific  spirit  is  essentially  generous. 
Gooch  is  the  child  of  the  old  religion, —  an 
exaggeration,  I  grant,— a  prodigy  of  evil 
under  the  garb  of  saintliness ;  but  he  is  the 
outcome  of  its  real  tendency.  For  the  old 
religion  appeals  to  selfishness  :  its  motive  is 
a  crown  of  glory,  one's  own  welfare  in  the 
life  to  come.  Orthodoxy,  to-day,  is  a  brill- 
iant speculation,  a  long  look  ahead  for 
number  one,  and  so  it  makes  one  like  Gooch 
enormously  selfish ;  and  then,  when  he  gets 
the  idea  that  God  is  on  his  side,  he  is  capa- 
ble of  committing  any  crime.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  he  felt  justified  for  all  that  he 
has  done  as  regards  you.  He  has  got  him- 
self so  mixed  up  with  the  Deity,  is  on  such 
familiar  terms  with  him,  that  he  makes  him. 
partner  in  every  mean  thing  he  does,  and  it 
becomes  a  divine  mission.  Christianity  is 
responsible  for  this  monstrous  absurdity. 
It  is  a  part  of  its  system.  It  cannot  call 
such  a  knave  as  Gooch  an  exception.  He 
may  be  a  distortion,  but  he  draws  his  life- 
blood  from  the  theology  of  the  past.  Under 
the  reign  of  science  there  can  be  no  such 
saintly  rogues,  for  it  allows  of  nothing  be- 
yond man's  reason.  It  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  inspiration,  only  with  argument. 
A  man  cannot  argue  himself  into  crime. 
The  moment  he  begins  to  argue,  he  becomes 
clear-headed ;  and  then  he  will  shrink  from 
wrong-doing." 

"  You  are  quite  too  philosophical  for  me, 
though  I  see  the  truth  of  what  you  say. 
But  Philosophy  is  a  gray-headed  gentleman, 
who  broods  over  books  and  looks  very  se- 


date. I  could  never  scrape  acquaintance 
with  him  ;  but  Love  is  a  young  and  sprightly 
thing,  laughing  and  dimpling,  and  I  like 
his  company  best." 

"  I  do,  when  it  comes  to  that.  Love  set- 
tles everything,  for  it  is  the  glory  of  every- 
thing. Would  men  toil  so,  if  it  were  not 
for  love  ?  How  it  fills  the  human  heart,  so 
that  it  can  endure  everything  1 " 

"Ah,  I  should  have  sunk,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  love  singing  in  my  heart.  But  it 
said  always, '  He  will  come,  he  will  save  you ' ; 
and  I  would  not  yield." 

"  But,  when  I  first  received  that  cruel  let- 
ter, I  said  I  would  not  come.  For  a  mo- 
ment, I  doubted  you." 

"  Doubted  me  ?  How  could  you  !  That 
was  unjust,  indeed !  " 

"  I  know  it.  But  the  old  devil  was  in 
me  yet.  I  thought  you  had  discarded  me. 
Will  exorcised  the  demon.  He  never 
doubted  you  for  a  moment.  We  owe  all  to 
him." 

"  He  is  a  wise  man,  indeed." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  a  foolish  one." 

"  I  forgive  your  folly." 

"I  shall  not  be  guilty  again.  O  trust, 
what  a  heaven  it  is  1  Without  it  love  is 
like  a  raging  sea;  but  with  it  calm  and 
beautiful,  touched  with  softest  music." 

"We  can  trust  each  other  now,  for  our 
suffering  is  the  seal  of  fate  that  makes  us 
one." 

"Indeed,  it  is;  and  fate's  sweet  signals 
are  thy  bright  eyes." 

Her  eyes  were  indeed  beautiful  as  they 
looked  upon  her  kneeling  lover.  Lustrous 
as  the  heavens,  liquid  as  the  sea,  unfathom- 
able they  glanced  with  the  wild  splendor  of 
love. 

No  wonder  that  Morton  knelt  at  her  feet 
and  kissed  her  hand.  Night  shone  about 
them  like  a  great  palace.  A  thousand 
torches  were  burning.  The  sea  spread  like 
a  jewelled  floor.  The  waves  flowed  and 
melted  in  the  intense  radiance.  The  winds 
danced  along  with  musical  feet.  The  sails 
were  spread,  and  with  quickening  motion 
the  ship  ploughed  its  sparkling  way;  and 


108 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


the  two  lovers  brooded  and  dreamed  and 
whispered  and  listened  to  the  song  of  the 
sea  and  to  the  deeper  song  within  their  own 
hearts.  They  read  the  mystic  glory  of  love 
in  each  other's  face.  The  divinest  of  all 
was  theirs,  the  effluence  of  the  eternal  joy. 

O  love,  sublime  interpreter  of  the  uni- 
verse! Without  thee  we  are  weak  indeed 
and  poor  and  desolate  even  though  crowned 
with  diamonds;  but  with  thee  the  most 
lowly  path  is  beautiful,  all  toil  is  gracious, 
the  humblest  home  is  laurelled  with  flowers, 
and  its  hearthstone  blazes  with  uncounted 
jewels ! 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  good  ship  sped  along.  They  were  a 
happy  company.  The  splendor  of  the  sky 
and  the  music  of  the  sea  were  not  more  full 
of  joy  than  these  brave  adventurers. 

"I  should  always  like  to  do  this,"  said 
Paddie.  "  Here  we  forget  the  cares  of  life." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  could  always  be  so,"  said 
Charlie,  "  or  is  there  a  fate  that  forbids  hap- 
piness to  be  more  than  for  a  while  ?  " 

"I  suppose  the  breakers  must  come.  A 
monotony  of  happiness  would  be  unendur- 
able. If  this  kept  up  for  a  month,  no  doubt 
we  should  pray  for  a  storm." 

The  doctor  and  Mrs.  Furgeson  were  play- 
ing chess. 

"  You  made  a  mistake  that  time,  doctor," 
said  the  lady.  "  I  shall  checkmate  you  in  a 
couple  of  moves." 

"I  see  it  now,  but  I  didn't  before.  I  sub- 
mit. It's  a  blunder  that  can't  be  rectified." 

"  Not  this  time.     Will  you  try  it  again  ?  " 

"I  guess  not.  I  am  afraid  I  am  too 
dreamy." 

"  There  is  where  you  missed  it.  Chess  is 
mathematics,  and  it  gives  no  chance  for 
dreams." 

"Life  is  mathematics  too,  and  we  must 
keep  snug  to  it,  or  we  fail." 

"  Some  seem  bound  to  fail,  anyway,"  said 
the  captain.  "They  are  checkmated  at 
birth." 

"  That  is  a  hard  lot, — to  lose  without  ever 
having  a  chance  to  win." 


"  Only  give  me  a  chance,  and  I  wouldn't 
lose,"  said  Charlie. 

"You  feel  superior  to  fortune  now;  but 
take  care,  she  may  lay  you  flat,  yet,"  said 
the  doctor,  with  a  wise  shake  of  his  head. 

"  She  might  if  I  were  single-handed,"  re- 
plied Charlie ;  "but  now  that  I  have  joined 
forces,  she  must  cry  peace.  She  may  make 
sport  of  one,  but  not  of  two.  They  are 
more  than  a  match  for  fortune, —  a  man  and 
woman." 

"Who  is  it  that  brings  the  luck,— the 
man  or  the  woman  ?  "  asked  Blanche. 

"The  woman,  of  course,"  said  Charlie; 
"  for  she  is  the  gift  of  fortune." 

"  According  to  that,  man  does  not  earn 
his  brightest  blessing." 

"  No,  he  only  earns  the  lower  good.  The 
best  comes  by  what  we  call  chance." 

"  Can  you  explain  this  ?  " 

"  I  cannot.  It  isn't  at  all  reasonable,  but 
it's  so." 

"Then  what's  the  use  of  working?" 

"  To  put  yourself  in  the  way  of  chance. 
If  you  don't  work,  you  won't  be  lucky." 

"But  some  work  and  work,  and  are  not 
lucky." 

"  Too  true !  but  if  they  didn't  work  they 
would  have  no  better  luck.  So,  they  might 
as  well  work." 

"  And  might  as  well  die,  some  of  them. 
Reward  is  so  poor  that  life  is  worthless." 

"  Everyone  can't  draw  a  prize." 

"  Alas  for  our  stars !  if  they  refuse  to 
shine,  we  must  suffer  the  ignominy  of  fail- 
ure, I  suppose ;  assume  the  responsibility  of 
what  we  can't  help ;  and  that's  what  fate  is." 

"This  is  too  tragical,"  cried  Paddie. 
"Let's  laugh  and  grow  fat,  and  not  think 
ourselves  into  nonentities." 

"  It's  your  luck  to  laugh  and  grow  fat.  If 
you  were  not  born  to  it,  you  coiridn't  do  it." 

"A  good  reason!  Let  who  can  give  a 
better.  Whatever  we  are  born  to,  that  we 
must  be.  So,  what's  the  use  of  vexing  one's 
self?" 

"Because,  if  one  is  born  to  vexation,  he 
must  also  fulfil  that  law.  Now,  how  can 
you  answer  that  ?  " 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


109 


"  I  can't,  because  I  wasn't  born  to  answer 
it.  My  native  wit  fails  me." 

"  Admirable  answer,  the  very  acme  of  phi- 
losophy 1  When  all  men  answer  thus,  the 
problem  of  the  universe  will  be  solved, — 
which  is,  that  ignorance  is  bliss." 

"  Ignorance  of  what  ?  " 

"Of  things  in  themselves.  What  we  want 
to  know  is  not  what  things  are,  but  how  to 
use  them." 

"  Can  we  use  them  to  best  advantage  with- 
out knowing  what  they  are  ?  " 

"  When  may  we  not  ?  That  is  what  sci- 
ence is  always  doing.  She  wisely  forbears 
to  go  behind  the  veil.  She  sees  the  light 
and  color,  and  weaves  them  into  dazzling 
forms;  and  so  life  is  beautiful.  But  the 
force  she  works  with  is  still  unexplainable/' 

"Shall  we  call  it  only  « force'?  Is  there 
not  a  better  name  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  for  names  are  but  defini- 
tions ;  and  definitions,  when  we  come  to  the 
ultimate,  are  a  failure." 

"Is  God  a  failure?" 

"Yes,  as  a  name,  unless  we  apply  it 
merely  to  our  moods  of  mind.  We  say  God 
rules,  when  we  are  happy.  When  we  are 
miserable,  we  are  not  apt  to  believe  in  God 
at  all." 

"  Can  we  not  apply  the  word  <  God '  to  the 
universe  as  a  whole  ?  " 

"I  think  not,  for  it  does  not  correspond 
to  the  reality.  *  God '  means,  if  it  means  any- 
thing, our  highest  ideal  of  goodness.  Now, 
that  highest  ideal  is  constantly  checked  as 
we  go  forth  into  the  outward  universe. 
There  is  evil,  and  we  cannot  explain  it  away. 
We  do  not  and  cannot  know  the  universe 
as  a  whole,  and  therefore  we  cannot  de- 
scribe it  either  as  good  or  bad." 

"  Will  theism  die  out,  as  not  having  a  suf- 
ficient basis  in  fact  ?  " 

"  No,  because  it  was  not  born  of  fact,  but 
simply  of  feeling.  It  is  the  child  of  imagi- 
nation, the  offspring  of  hope.  It  is  a  mental 
mood,  and  not  a  demonstration.  This  mood 
will  ever  come  and  go,  like  sunny  days  over 
the  stormy  world.  There  will  be  many  a 


glad  height  in  our  toilsome  way,  from 
whence  nothing  will  be  seen  but  beauty." 

"  Is  theism  false,  because  based  on  mere 
feeling?" 

"Not  false  if  we  let  it  abide  there;  but 
false  when  we  translate  it  into  a  proposition, 
and  make  it  a  dogma  of  words." 

"  Is  there  nothing  that  we  can  trust  in  ?  " 

"Indeed  there  is.  How  million-fold 
greater  is  our  happiness  than  our  misery  I 
As  we  follow  the  majestic  course  of  the  uni- 
verse, how  wonderful,  how  jubilant  it  all  is! 
When  we  touch  humanity  and  thrill  with 
its  life,  what  language  can  express  our  joy  ?  " 

"  But  if  the  comet  plunges  into  the  sun, 
and  the  sun's  heat  slays  us,  what  then?" 

"  That's  a  long  look  ahead,  and  borrow- 
ing an  immense  amount  of  trouble.  We 
may  go  to  smash,  of  course;  but  what  we 
have  accomplished  is  a  part  of  the  universe, 
and  lives  in  all  its  endless  transformation. 
The  future  cannot  change  the  present, 
which  is  glorious  in  itself.  Our  souls  are 
great,  not  for  what  they  will  be,  but  for 
what  they  are.  Thought  is  not  of  time  or 
space,  for  it  precedes  them." 

"Must  we  not,  as  Goethe  says,  live  in  the 
beyond  ?  To-day  may  be  beautiful,  but  is  it 
not  more  beautiful  because  we  dream  of  a 
beautiful  to-morrow  ?  " 

"That  is  indeed  true,  and  so  we  will 
dream,  and  hope,  and  be  forward  looking. 
We  seek  the  impossible ;  and,  seeking  that, 
we  achieve  infinitely.  Otherwise,  we  should 
do  nothing  at  all." 

Thus,  thought,  many-hued  and  bright,  re- 
flecting the  thousand  possibilities  of  life, 
flashed  and  found  manifold  expression 
amid  this  congenial  society.  No  one  en- 
deavored to  be  consistent,  but  to  be  like  the 
changing  sea  whose  restless  billows  sought 
ever  new  intensities  of  light,  and  poured 
forth  marvels  of  color  and  miracles  of  song. 
Oh,  how  rich  life  can  be  when  in  exuber- 
ant motion  we  give  ourselves  to  the  ever- 
abounding  glory  of  the  universe,  and 
through  the  infinities  of  feeling  absorb  and 
translate  its  continuous  wonders ! 


110 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


It  was  apparently  a  cloudless  blue  as  the 
captain  swept  the  horizon  with  his  glass, 
but  he  muttered :  — 

"  It  looks  a  bit  squally  over  there.  I  hope 
we  shall  get  round  it.  If  it  hits  us,  it'll 
knock,  us  a  good  way  off  from  San  Fran- 
cisco ;  and  I'm  in  hopes  to  be  there  in  a  day 
or  two." 

"We  are  safe  enough,"  said  Paddie.  "I 
don't  see  any  bad  signs." 

"Wait  an  hour  or  so,  and  you'll  change 
your  mind." 

There  did  seem  to  come  an  inexplicable 
darkness  into  the  scene,  and  a  cold  draught 
of  air.  Still,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  the  waves,"  said 
the  captain.  "  They  glisten  too  much,  and 
there  are  too  many  of  them.  See  how  they 
roll  and  tumble  together.  They  look  ugly. 
The  clouds  are  beginning  to  gather." 

They  could  see  the  clouds  now,  faint  and 
fleecy,  hurrying  and  scurrying  along.  The 
wind  blew  louder  and  more  chill. 

"We've  got  to  take  it.  It's  all  around 
us,  and  it's  a  regular  hurricane.  No  child's 
play,  this,"  said  the  captain. 

"It's  time  for  a  storm.  We've  had  too 
pleasant  weather  for  three  or  four  days. 
Extremes  meet,  and  now  we've  got  to  take 
the  worst  of  it,"  said  Paddie. 

They  furled  the  sails,  but  the  wind  blew 
90  strongly  that  the  ship  sped  on  more 
swiftly  than  before.  Thunder  sounded  in 
the  distance,  and  the  horizon  became  in- 
tensely black.  Overhead,  the  sun  was  just 
quivering  forth  with  a  lurid  light. 

"  I'd  rather  see  the  sun  out  of  sight  than 
looking  like  that,"  said  the  captain. 

Soon,  the  great  volumes  rolled  over  the 
«un  and  the  waves  dashed  mightily,  and  the 
ship  plunged  forward  like  a  wild  horse. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  judge,  we  are  in  mid- 
ocean  ;  and,  if  we  can  stand  the  waves,  we've 
nothing  else  to  fear,  we've  a  stanch  vessel 
and  it  can  leap  from  billow  to  billow,  al- 
most like  a  mermaid,"  said  the  captain. 

It  was  a  sublime  and  terrific  scene.  The 
whole  atmosphere  seemed  to  roar  violently, 
the  ship  heaved  and  tossed,  and  the  immense 


billows  swept  against  it  and  seemed  to  grasp 
it  with  gigantic  hands  and  hurl  it  on,  and 
almost  spin  it  round  like  a  top.  The  dark- 
ness became  intense,  and  still  could  be  seen 
the  phosphorescent  glare  of  myriad  crests 
that  in  mad  ecstasy  appeared  to  strike  at 
the  very  heavens.  The  vivid  lightning 
almost  constantly  revealed  an  awful  theatre 
of  action. 

Then  came  a  crash,  and  the  waters  almost 
swept  the  deck. 

"  By  God,  the  rudder's  broke,  and  now  we 
must  take  it  as  we  will  1 " 

There  was  nothing  to  do  except  to  wait 
until  the  fury  of  the  storm  was  spent.  It 
was  no  longer  possible  to  guide  the  vessel. 

On  it  dashed,  climbing  the  great  seas  and 
sliding  into  the  enormous  depths.  The 
waves  towered  above  it  like  mountainous 
walls,  and  the  white  foam,  like  a  multitude 
of  sprites,  seemed  to  fly  about  it,  as  if 
they  would  tear  it  to  pieces,  and  then  the 
ship  would  be  lifted  to  the  top  and  tremble 
on  the  verge  of  some  precipitous  chasm. 

Then,  a  new  and  dazzling  horror  burst 
upon  the  vision. 

A  long  line  of  rocks  shot  up  all  of  a  sud- 
den. Gloriously,  the  waves  dashed  against 
them  like  a  magnificent  army,  battalion  upon 
battalion,  to  be  shivered  into  gleaming  frag- 
ments upon  the  intractable  enemy. 

"  We  are  lost !  "  said  the  captain.  "  These 
are  the  rocks  of  Bell  Isle.  I  know  where 
I  am  now.  We  are  driving  right  upon 
shore." 

Calmly,  they  faced  the  dreadful  peril. 
There  was  no  praying.  It  was  simple 
manhood  meeting  the  inevitable. 

"  Blanche,"  said  Charlie,  "  this  looks  like 
our  last  hour." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  she.  "  The  glory  of  it 
is  that  we  die  together.  Is  not  that  a  sub- 
lime fate  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  afraid  then  ?  " 

"Afraid?  Oh,  no!  Life  is  sweet;  but  we 
must  die,  and  what  we  must  do  we  cannot 
regret." 

"  Let  us  stand  together,  and  let  us  face 
nature  and  witness  with  unclouded  souls 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


Ill 


her  grandest  spectacle.  We  die  royally,  do 
we  not,  amid  this  thunder  of  the  elements. 
See  yonder  promontory  stretching  into  the 
sea !  Its  lofty  head  seems  to  touch  the  sky, 
and  around  its  base  how  the  seething  seas 
toil,  as  if  they  would  tear  it  away  and  hurl  it 
into  the  abyss." 

The  grandeur  of  the  scene  was  indescrib- 
able. The  rocks  loomed  forth  like  an 
innumerable  army  of  giants.  Far  away 
in  the  white  glare  of  the  billows  and 
the  vivid  splendor  of  the  lightning,  they 
stretched  sturdy  and  unyielding.  To  the 
left  rose  a  huge  promontory,  nearly  five 
hundred  feet  in  height ;  and  against  it,  as 
if  with  special  fury,  the  squadrons  of  the 
ocean,  rank  on  rank,  dashed  and  foamed,  and 
fell  back  in  surging  retreat.  It  was  a  glo- 
rious pageant.  It  made  death  seem  like  a 
wild  joy  amid  the  intoxicating  grandeurs  of 
the  scene. 

The  captain  watched  every  movement  of 
the  ship,  and  scanned  the  shores  constantly. 
He  was  a  hard  man  to  beat,  even  with  all 
the  elements  against  him. 

"  If  we  could  round  that  point,  we'd  be 
safe,"  said  he ;  "  for  there's  smooth  water, 
and  we  could  land  before  the  ship  went  to 
pieces.  If  the  rudder  wasn't  broke,  I  could 
do  it.  Which  way's  the  wind  ?  West-sou'- 
west  just  now.  That's  right!  I'll  take  ad- 
vantage of  it.  Boys,  unfurl  the  sails,  stretch 
every  inch  of  canvas.  The  wind  may  blow 
us  round  that  point,  and  then  we  can  take 
another  chance  for  life." 

Swiftly  and  steadily,  the  men  worked,  the 
captain's  wife  amid  them  ;  and,  spite  of  every 
difficulty,  they  set  the  sails  to  catch  the 
breeze.  There  was  a  comparative  lull.  Then, 
the  wind  seemed  to  take  the  vessel,  as  if  in 
grim  sport,  and  bear  it  right  toward  the 
promontory's  point,  beyond  which  there  was 
a  sufficient  calm  to  permit  the  boats  to  be 
launched. 

It  was  their  only  salvation.  Would  the 
wind  dash  them  against  the  base  of  the 
mighty  mountain,  or  would  it  hurl  them 
by? 

"  We  can  do  nothing  more,"  said  the  cap- 


tain. "  We  might  as  well  fold  our  arms  and 
be  spectators  of  the  scene.  The  drama  will 
move  on  without  any  more  assistance  from 
us.  We  are  supernumeraries  now." 

Like  an  unleashed  hound,  the  ship  went 
bounding  forward.  Nearer  and  nearer,  it 
came  to  the  overhanging  pinnacle.  It  was 
right  over  their  heads. 

"  One  more  puff,  and  we  are  round  that 
big  rock.  Hurrah  !  We've  got  it !  That's  a 
good  squall.  Here  we  go  ! " 

They  shot  by  the  beetling  cliff,  and  in  the 
shadow  of  the  immense  mountain  found  a 
sea.  whose  rolling  breast,  though  heaving 
fearfully,  still  permitted  the  launching  of  a 
boat. 

"  It's  an  awful  risk,  but  some  of  us  must 
get  ashore." 

"That's  my  business,"  said  Charlie. 

"And  mine  too,"  said  Will  and  Paddie. 
"  You  attend  to  the  boats  and  the  women." 

They  plunged  in,  and  battled  with  the 
waves,  which  wrestled  with  the  brave  swim- 
mers, and  seemed  determined  to  break  their 
heads  or  bury  them  in  the  depths.  Charlie 
was  the  first  to  touch  shore,  but  the  others 
were  not  far  behind. 

"Hurrah  for  workl  Here's  a  place  for 
the  ship's  cable.  We  can  hitch  the  <  Alba- 
tross '  now,  and  land  her  cargo." 

The  mountain,  once  so  threatening,  hung 
over  them  like  a  protecting  angel,  and  kept 
off  the  fierce  gusts  that  thundered  against 
its  opposite  side.  All  were  safely  landed, 
and  many  of  the  ship's  stores,  before  the 
"Albatross "  had  sunk. 

"  I  must  bid  her  good-by,"  said  the  cap- 
tain: "she's  been  with  me  many  a  year, 
stanch  and  true ;  and  I  could  almost  perish 
with  her.  I  shall  never  have  a  better 
friend." 

"You  shall  have  as  good  a  one,"  said 
Charlie.  "  I'll  build  another  <  Albatross/  " 

CHAPTER  XXVIH. 

THE  storm  swept  by.  In  the  morning, 
the  world  was  clothed  with  fresh  loveliness. 
The  ocean  was  as  placid  as  an  infant,  and 
smiled  along  the  shores  with  sparkling 


112 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


beauty.  The  island  was  beautiful,  spread- 
ing away  with  field  and  stream  and  hill  and 
valley.  The  sky  bent  over  it  with  glorious 
lustre  after  the  baptism  of  the  storm. 

Our  little  party  were  happy,  in  spite  of  all 
their  misfortunes.  They  were  on  a  lonely 
shore  in  the  midst  of  the  mighty  sea.  It 
was  seldom  visited  by  man,  and  they  might 
remain  for  years  without  a  chance  to  escape. 
They  saved  as  much  as  they  could  from  the 
ship,  which  took  its  time  about  going  to 
pieces  as  it  swung  upon  the  rocks.  There 
was  enough  food  to  last  them  for  several 
months,  and  no  doubt  they  could  find  many 
means  of  support  on  the  island  itself.  Most 
of  their  mechanical  instruments  were  pre- 
served ;  and  they  had  the  material  for  rude 
shelters.  All  went  to  work  with  a  will. 
There  was  no  lamenting.  So  long  as  they 
lived,  so  long  would  they  make  out  to  enjoy 
themselves. 

"Here,  we  can  build  the  republic  of 
Plato,"  said  Paddie.  "Here,  we  can  have 
Utopia,  a  model  society.  We  are  released 
from  the  world  and  all  its  cares  and  per- 
plexities. We  have  no  traditions  to  bind 
us.  We  can  live  the  ideal." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  plan  to  draw  up 
a  constitution?"  said  Charlie. 

"  Perhaps  so,  though  I  am  not  much  in 
favor  of  a  paper  government.  We  can  build 
up  a  state  after  our  own  fashion." 

"  I  hate  rules  and  regulations,"  said  the 
captain ;  "  but,  whether  we  need  them  or  not, 
they  may  invest  our  society  with  a  little 
more  dignity." 

"  Let  us  women  try  it  for  once.  We  have 
had  no  chance  yet,"  said  the  captain's  wife. 
"There  are  only  two  of  us,  and  we  shan't 
quarrel.  It  won't  be  long,  if  you  men  man- 
age matters,  before  one  half  will  have  to 
study  law  to  keep  the  other  half  in  order." 
"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Blanche.  "I 
don't  propose  to  submit  any  longer.  We 
start  new  now,  and  I  begin  by  snapping  my 
fingers  in  the  face  of  the  divine  right  of 
man." 

"Do  it,  and  I'll  stand  by  you.  You  shall 
have  your  own  way,"  said  Charlie.  "You 
shall  vote  as  early  and  as  often  as  you  wish." 


"  On  both  sides  too,  if  I  like,"  said  Blanche. 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  shall  have  a 
chance  then,"  said  Will. 

"  We  will  call  a  meeting  at  early  candle- 
light," said  Paddie.  "We  haven't  any 
meeting-house  yet  nor  candles,  but  yonder 
grove  will  make  a  good  temple.  Now  for 
supper." 

The  meal  was  soon  over,  and  the  evening 
light  flashing  with  gold  spread  through  the 
beautiful  forest  and  glittered  afar  out  upon 
the  tossing  sea.  Beneath  the  verdant  can- 
opy, the  jolly  company  gathered  to  see  what 
might  be  done  toward  the  formation  of  a 
model  republic. 

"I  have  taken  the  liberty,"  said  Paddie, 
"  to  draw  up  a  few  resolutions  as  a  starting- 
point  for  our  portentous  undertaking.  We 
now  occupy  a  remarkable  position  in  his- 
tory. Let  us  be  worthy  of  it.  We  are 
undisturbed  by  any  of  the  precedents  of  the 
mistaken  past.  With  boundless  hope,  we 
look  forth  into  the  future.  We  have  the 
stored  wisdom  of  the  ages  for  our  guide,  be- 
sides our  own  untrammeled  reason.  We  wish 
to  build  a  state  that  shall  be  a  joy  to  those 
who  come  after  us,  that  shall  be  a  monu- 
ment of  human  ingenuity.  In  the  first 
place  let  it  be  distinctly  understood  that 
we  will  have  no  church  with  state.  The 
church  is  an  individual  matter ;  and  all 
can  suit  themselves,  they  can  have  what- 
ever style  they  wish.  They  can  worship 
or  not  worship,  according  to  the  dictates 
of  their  own  conscience.  We  want  some- 
thing simply  for  human  convenience,  by 
which  we  can  live  happily  together  and 
obtain  the  most  from  our  mutual  endeavor. 
Is  not  this  the  mind  of  all  ?  " 

There  was  a  universal  assent. 

"This  point  then  is  settled.  Now  for 
business  1  I  have  omitted  the  ten  com- 
mandments. They  have  done  their  work, 
and  we  do  not  need  them.  I  shall  lay  down 
as  the  fundamental  principle  of  our  new 
commonwealth  the  eleventh  commandment, 
which  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  them 
all,  so  far  as  they  are  true ;  namely,  resolved 
first  and  last,  always  and  afterwards,  that 
everybody  shall  mind  his  own  business." 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


113 


There  was  a  unanimous  murmur  of  ap- 
proval to  this  proposition. 

"  You've  hit  it ! "  said  the  doctor.  "  That's 
the  wisdom  of  the  ages.  It's  an  improvement 
upon  every  form  of  society  so  far.  I  heartily 
vote  for  that  resolution.  Heretofore,  society 
has  seemed  to  exist  for  the  express  purpose 
of  meddling  with  everybody's  affairs.  I  am 
glad  to  hear  somebody  say,  Hands  off  1  In 
fact,  I  think  that  is  all  the  constitution  we 
need ;  and  we  might  as  well  adjourn  and  live 
up  to  that,  and  we  shall  be  happy." 

"  That  is  all  the  constitution  I  propose," 
said  Paddie.  "I  have  only  a  couple  of  by- 
laws ;  and,  if  they  are  accepted,  our  model 
republic  is  complete." 

"  Out  with  them,  but  I  am  afraid  you  will 
spoil  the  dish." 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Paddie.  "This  is 
number  one:  Resolved,  That,  if  one  does 
not  mind  his  own  business,  we  will  per- 
suade him  to." 

"  That's  good,"  said  the  doctor :  "  it 
passes  unanimously." 

Paddie  continued:  "Resolved,  That,  if 
one  will  not  be  persuaded,  we  will  let  him 
severely  alone." 

"Boycott  him.  Well,  I  agree  to  that," 
said  the  doctor,  and  so  said  the  rest. 

"Resolved,  That,  if  one  persist  in  med- 
dling with  the  business  of  another,  his  ears 
shall  be  gently  cuffed." 

"  That's  where  we  differ,"  said  the  doctor : 
"that's  going  too  far.  It  is  an  appeal  to 
brute  force.  In  order  to  enforce  it,  we  must 
have  a  congress,  and  a  court,  a  president, 
and  standing  army,  and  the  police.  I'm 
opposed  to  the  bayonet.  Trust  in  persua- 
sion." 

"  Suppose  you  can't  persuade,  and  one  vio- 
lently intrudes." 

"That  may  be  settled,  when  the  time 
comes.  But  I  am  opposed  to  any  declara- 
tion of  war  until  necessary." 

"  I  think  the  doctor  is  a  little  off,"  said 
the  captain.  "  I  am  in  favor  of  cuffing  the 
ears,  as  a  last  resort.  At  any  rate,  it  is 
a  good  thing  for  people  to  know  that  we  can 
cuff  their  ears,  if  they  deserve  it." 


"  Yes,  and  so  appeal  to  their  brute  nat- 
ure," said  the  doctor.  "It  isn't  right. 
We  might  as  well  go  back  to  the  old  barba- 
rism, and  hang,  and  draw,  and  quarter. 
We'll  have  the  old  tyranny,  the  order  built 
on  fear." 

"  But,  if  we  do  not  reserve  the  right  to 
reprimand,  then  we  cannot  rule  at  all,"  said 
the  captain.  "  Why  insist  beforehand  that 
man  is  going  to  be  bad,  and  so  provide  for 
his  wrong-doing  ?  We  have  nothing  to  fear. 
The  genius  of  man  is  always  sufficient  to 
deal  with  evil,  when  it  comes.  Be  as  kind  as 
nature :  she  attaches  no  penalty  until  she  has 
been  wronged.  Both  knowledge  and  happi- 
ness make  for  order  :  order  without  liberty 
is  a  curse.  We  are  constantly  in  prison,  in 
every  state  to-day  where  every  man  is  treated 
as  a  thief  and  every  woman  as  a  beast." 

"  I  think  the  doctor  is  right,"  said  Paddie. 
"  I  don't  believe  in  any  rules  and  regulations 
founded  upon  cuffing.  The  true  state  must 
be  founded  upon  persuasion,  and  nothing 
else.  If  that  is  anarchy,  then  anarchy  let  it 
be.  I'll  try  it,"  said  the  captain.  "  I've  never 
had  to  lick  anybody  yet,  though  somehow  or 
other  I've  always  hated  to  give  up  the  right 
to.  Maybe  that's  a  superstition  too.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  the  state  was  just  as 
absurd  as  the  church." 

"  You've  a  twinkling  of  sense,"  said  the 
doctor.  "For  my  part,  I  stand  outside  of 
both.  They  will  pass  away.  They  belong 
to  barbarism." 

"  I'll  put  it  to  vote  as  to  whether  we  shall 
have  any  ear-cuffing,"  said  Paddie. 

"It's  too  bad,"  said  Blanche.  "We've 
had  our  ears  cuffed  so  long,  and  now  you 
won't  let  us  cuff  back.  But  never  mind :  I 
can  well  afford  to  vote  for  persuasion,  and 
give  my  tongue  a  better  chance." 

"True  again,"  said  Charlie.  "In  the 
long  run,  it's  the  mightiest  of  sceptres." 

"  What  a  chance  we'll  have  in  the  future  1" 
said  Blanche.  "  When  the  tongue  rules,  men 
will  have  to  subside." 

Paddie  put  the  ear-cuffing  question  to  vote, 
and  it  was  discarded  by  a  large  majority. 

"I  don't  see  the  use  of  any  constitution 


114 


GOLDEN  THKONE. 


now,"  said  the  captain.  "  If  we  can't  en- 
force it,  we  might  as  well  put  it  on  the  shelf. 
If  we  must  only  appeal  to  a  man's  good 
sense,  what's  the  use  of  any  written  au- 
thority?" 

"You  are  right,"  said  Paddie.  "Men 
think  there's  a  magic  in  what  is  writ.  It's 
all  nonsense.  So  here  goes  the  model  state. 
By  making  it  end  in  smoke,  we'll  smoke  the 
pipe  of  peace  forever." 

Paddie  lit  the  paper,  and  with  a  puff  it 
vanished  into  the  bosom  of  the  night. 

"  Some  may  think  this  written  truth  has 
perished  utterly,  because  they  cannot  see  it, 
and  handle  it,  and  carry  it  in  their  pockets. 
But  it  is  more  living  than  ever,  as  all  truth 
is  when  unseen.  It  dwells  within  the  mind, 
the  unwritten  law  of  the  universe.  Gentle- 
men and  ladies,  from  this  time  forth  there 
is  no  state.  All  is  anarchy." 

Whatever  might  happen  in  other  places, 
here  at  least  there  was  no  disorder.  Every- 
thing went  harmoniously  along.  Each  did 
mind  his  own  business,  and  there  was  no 
trouble. 

The  days  flew  by  full  of  eager  and  splen- 
did life.  The  island  amply  supplied  all 
their  wants.  Each  one  took  care  of  him- 
self, and  lived  independently.  Yet  there 
was  a  noble,  social  life  and  helpfulness  flow- 
ing from  the  fullest  liberty. 

Paddie  and  the  doctor  especially  delighted 
in  this  natural  existence.  They  roamed  far 
and  wide  over  the  island.  Everywhere,  they 
saw  enchanting  scenes.  There  were  noble 
forests,  lofty  mountains,  winding  valleys, 
beautiful  rivers  and  cascades.  The  climate 
was  warm  and  equable,  and  they  could 
remain  out  all  night  without  discomfort. 
They  found  many  new  and  magnificent 
specimens  of  flowers.  Sometimes,  meadows 
would  stretch  for  miles  away,  blazing  with 
an  infinite  variety  of  gorgeous  colors.  The 
two  adventurers  would  dash  into  it  as  into  a 
sea,  and  for  hours  wade  through  irridescent 
billows. 

One  day,  they  stumbled  upon  some  mas- 
sive ruins,  which  seemed  at  first  like  huge 
stones  scattered  about  in  a  certain  order  by 


some  freak  of  nature.  But  a  closer  observa- 
tion showed  that  they  were  the  remnant  of 
a  mighty  city.  All  was  silent  now,  but  on 
this  spot  could  be  traced  the  white  walls  of 
a  temple.  On  another  was  a  dilapidated 
tower.  For  two  or  three  miles  could  be  seen 
the  evidences  of  an  extinct  people,  who,  cer- 
tainly in  their  time,  must  have  had  some 
wealth  and  culture.  When  did  they  live, 
whence  did  they  come,  whither  did  they  go  ? 

"  What  a  mysterious  world  this  is !  "  said 
the  doctor.  "  How  the  ages  do  haunt  us 
everywhere  1  How  long  has  man  lived  upon 
this  planet !  Of  what  million  experiences 
are  we  the  heirs,  of  which  we  can  never 
know !  These  people  were  our  ancestors. 
Their  blood  flows  in  our  veins.  What  they 
wrought  we  enjoy ;  yet  this  is  all  their  out- 
ward record, —  these  few  stones  tumbled 
about  in  uncouth  fashion." 

Charlie  and  Blanche  roamed  to  the  top  of 
a  lofty  hill  which  overlooked  an  immense 
prospect. 

"I've  just  done  my  day's  work,"  said 
Charlie.  "  I've  gathered  a  bushel  of  cocoa- 
nuts." 

"You've  paid  your  way,"  said  Blanche. 
"I've  done  nothing  but  sweep  my  front- 
yard  to-day  and  gather  a  few  flowers,  and 
I  believe  I  did  sew  a  button  on  your  shirt." 

"  You  did  that,  but  my  shirt  is  'most  gone ; 
and  I  wonder  you  found  a  place  to  put  the 
button  on.  We  must  begin  to  weave  and 
spin." 

"It  looks  so.  We've  been  here  six 
months  now,  and  no  sign  from  the  outward 
world.  We  must  depend  upon  ourselves, 
make  our  own  clothes." 

"I  am  in  favor  of  free  trade  here,  but 
our  importations  are  too  few." 

"Really,  I'm  growing  weary  of  this  iso- 
lated life,"  said  Blanche. 

"  What,  weary  of  love  in  a  cottage  ?  " 

"  No.  Never  weary  of  love,  provided  the 
cottage  is  handy  to  the  depot.  We  can  get 
more  out  of  ourselves,  when  we  have  plenty 
to  help  us.  Solitude,  after  all,  derives  its 
value  from  society." 

"I  agree  with  you.    We  are  dependent 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


115 


upon  one  another.  We  are  parts  of  human- 
ity, and  we  cannot  be  cut  off  even  with  this 
agreeable  company  without  suffering.  We 
cannot  love  so  well  even  in  this  beautiful 
island,  shining  like  a  diamond  on  the  bosom 
of  the  sea,  as  we  can  amid  the  abounding 
pulses  of  human  life.  Yes,  I  long  for  the 
great  world;  for  the  millions  of  men  and 
women  other  than  ourselves,  whose  life 
becomes  a  part  of  ours,  and  thus  makes 
human  love  more  rich  and  complete." 

"  Do  you  not  fear  we  can  never  go  ?  This 
island  is  rarely  visited." 

"Luck  will  decide.  I  watch  the  ocean 
every  day.  I  long  to  see  the  horizon  rich 
with  a  sail.  I  carry  my  glass  with  me,  but 
it  reveals  nothing  so  far  but  tumbling  bil- 
lows." 

"Let  me  look.  Perhaps  I  can  be  more 
fortunate." 

"  I  am  willing  to  trust  my  fortune  to  you 
on  this  island  or  elsewhere." 

The  great  blue  sea  stretched  before  them. 
Softly,  the  winds  played  over  it ;  and  the  sky 
was  of  dazzling  brightness.  The  far  hori- 
zon mingled  with  the  dancing  verge,  and 
air  and  water  blended  like  molten  silver. 

Long  and  earnestly,  Blanche  looked  over 
the  shining  waste. 

"  I  do  believe  I  see  a  ship.  It  can't  be  the 
foam.  Please  look." 

Morton  swept  the  distant  scene. 

"  It  is  a  ship,"  he  cried.  "  Now  for  our 
signals  and  the  boat." 

He  hurried  to  shore.  Every  one  was  on 
the  alert.  Soon,  the  ship  became  distinctly 
visible.  They  hoisted  the  flag ;  and  the  boat, 
with  streaming  flag,  swept  over  the  waters. 

The  ship  hove  to.  In  a  little  while,  they 
were  on  board. 

Bravely,  they  had  endured.  Sweet  and 
peaceful  as  their  life  was  in  this  gorgeous 
island,  laden  with  nature's  richest  blessings 
of  fruit  and  flower,  yet  the  mystic  tide  of 
humanity  was  not  with  them,  they  did  not 
feel  the  beating  of  the  hearts  of  countless 
millions ;  and  so  they  sang  the  song  of  joy 
as  they  gathered  into  the  friendly  ship  that 
was  to  take  them  back  to  native  scenes. 


All  except  Paddie  and  the  doctor:  they 
wanted  to  gather  more  specimens. 

"We'll  follow  you  one  of  these  days," 
said  the  doctor.  "But  we  must  pluck  out 
the  heart  of  this  island  first.  We  must  an- 
alyze it  and  dissect  it.  It  has  a  great  his- 
tory. It  is  full  of  wonder.  It  is  one  of 
nature's  favorites.  When  we  are  well  loaded 
inside  and  out,  then  we'll  come  and  tell  you 
what  we  know ;  and  it  will  be  a  marvellous 
tale." 

"  We'll  come  to  you  in  a  couple  of  years, 
if  you  don't  come  to  us,"  said  Charlie. 

It  was  a  Yankee  clipper  that  took  them ; 
and  soon  they  were  bounding  over  the 
waters  to  the  golden  gates  of  San  Francisco. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  first  thing  to  do  after  landing  in  San 
Francisco  was  to  undo  the  legal  trick  of 
Gooch.  It  turned  out  that  the  marriage  cer- 
emony had  been  performed  by  a  Rev.  Adonis 
Sapphire,  an  Episcopalian  minister.  They 
called  upon  him,  found  him  a  rotund  individ- 
ual, whose  eyes  could  scarcely  be  seen  for  the 
fat  that  was  gathered  about  them.  He  evi- 
dently enjoyed  life,  and  had  a  large  portion  of 
its  good  things.  The  Church  to  him  was  a 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey.  He  was 
no  martyr.  His  faith  paid  at  least  ten  per 
cent,  on  the  investment.  He  drank  a  bottle 
of  wine  every  day,  smoked  the  best  of  cigars, 
had  a  barrelfull  of  elegantly  embroidered 
slippers,  and  half  a  dozen  gorgeous  study 
gowns  furnished  by  his  lady  parishioners. 
He  had  a  gold-mounted  Bible  on  his  centre 
table  a  la  Talmage,  but  he  seldom  opened  its 
pages.  He  really  knew  little  of  the  Bible 
except  what  was  quoted  in  the  Prayer-Book, 
which  he  was  obliged  to  use  in  the  Sunday 
service.  He  could  read  the  Prayer-Book 
with  a  great  deal  of  dignity  and  unction. 
This  was,  in  fact,  his  strong  point, —  his  beau- 
tiful elocution, —  and  he  made  the  most  of  it. 

He  practised  daily,  and  attended  all  the 
theatres  he  could  without  creating  too  much 
scandal.  In  fact,  he  had  hesitated  a  long 
time  between  the  stage  and  the  Church. 


116 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


His  laziness  finally  got  the  better  of  him, 
and  he  took  to  the  Church.  .  He  had  the 
virtue  of  being  supremely  contented, —  never 
for  a  moment  losing  consciousness  of  the 
fact  that  no  other  calling  would  pay  him  five 
thousand  per  year  for  the  smallest  possible 
expenditure  of  himself  in  exchange.  His 
sermons  were  only  fifteen  minutes  in  length, 
and  required  no  effort  to  write  them,  being 
a  flow  of  euphonic  utterances,  differently  ar- 
ranged from  Sunday  to  Sunday,  and  with  a 
new  label  attached.  But  he  was  very  popu- 
lar. He  knew  how  to  talk  to  the  ladies, 
especially  the  old  ones ;  and,  as  they  ruled 
the  church,  of  course  his  position  was  per- 
fectly secure.  He  received  his  visitors  with 
careless  grace.  His  little  white  hand  gave 
each  one  a  cordial  greeting.  When  spoken 
to  on  the  subject  of  the  marriage  between 
Gooch  and  Blanche,  he  remembered  it.  He 
admitted  that  the  lady  acted  strangely,  but 
he  supposed  that  nothing  was  out  of  the 
way. 

"I  do  not  consider  it  my  business,"  he 
said,  "  to  make  any  inquiries  in  the  matter." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  willing  to  tell  all  you 
know,  in  order  that  justice  may  be  done." 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied.  "  I  regret  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  and  am  sorry  that 
he  is  such  a  villain." 

"  Didn't  he  look  like  one?" 

rt  Perhaps  he  did ;  but  he  was  well  dressed, 
paid  a  liberal  marriage  fee,  and  quoted  Script- 
lire  volubly.  In  spite  of  his  looks,  I  pre- 
sumed he  was  a  godly  man." 

"  I  refer  you  to  Miss  Kennedy  to  explain 
the  infinite  outrage  that  she  has  suffered,  and 
I  .shall  depend  upon  you  to  undo  it,"  said 
Charlie. 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  answered  the  Reverend 
Adonis.  "  Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.  I 
feel  quite  upset.  Won't  you  take  a  smoke  ? 
I  must  do  something  to  settle  my  nerves.  I 
think  I  must  take  a  vacation,  and  go  to 
Europe.  This  is  too  bad." 

"  What  a  foot-ball  of  destiny  that  man  is  I" 
said  Charlie  to  Will,  as  they  came  out. 
"He's  good  or  bad  as  circumstances  de- 
mand. He  was  the  tool  of  Gooch ;  and  now 


he  is  willing  to  come  to  our  rescue,  seeing 
that  we  also  have  money.  But,  if  he  had 
been  a  man,  he  would  have  prevented  this 
wrong.  He  could  easily  have  detected  that 
foul  play  was  being  done,  and  might  have 
deferred  the  ceremony  until  he  had  learned 
the  facts  more  fully,  had  it  not  been  for  that 
big  fee." 

"  He  is  the  type  of  the  world,  easy-going, 
taking  things  as  they  are,  and  making  the 
most  of  them  for  pleasure,"  said  Will.  "  He's 
not  a  truth-seeker,  he  has  no  problems  to 
solve,  he  floats  in  the  sunshine,  is  well  mean- 
ing ;  and  yet  what  instrumentalities  for  evil 
such  men  become !  " 

"  He  is  a  good  representative  of  the  Chris- 
tianity of  to-day,  neither  hot  nor  cold,  but 
simply  slush  without  backbone  or  definite 
purpose.  You  can't  depend  on  Christianity 
to-day  for  anything  except  what  is  popular. 
It  has  no  original  force,  it  is  only  a  wind- 
mill. It  veers  to  the  heaviest  force ;  and,  if 
that  happens  to  be  right,  then  Christianity  is 
right,  and  shouts  for  freedom  and  justice. 
See  this  reverend  Sapphire,  this  Adonis,  this 
curled  Hyperion, —  he  is  as  obedient  to  the 
dictates  of  the  world  as  a  boot-black.  So 
long  as  we  are  on  the  winning  side,  he's  our 
friend,  he'll  stick  to  us  like  a  burr,  he  knows 
a  good  thing  afar  off,  and  points  for  it  like 
a  hound.  He's  our  ally,  because  we  can  feed 
his  stomach  ;  he  has  neither  head  nor  heart. 
He's  all  abdominal." 

After  a  while,  they  came  to  Dick's  cosey 
little  home.  He  was  flourishing  now  under 
his  own  vine  and  fig-tree. 

"  What  a  time  you've  had  of  it ! "  said  he. 
"  You've  been  knocked  round  the  four  quar- 
ters of  the  globe." 

"  Yes,  we've  seen  a  good  deal  inside  and 
outside  of  this  planet,"  said  Charlie.  "  We 
shall  know  something  of  life,  if  we  keep  on." 

"  You'll  never  know  as  much  as  my  baby," 
said  Dick.  "  He's  the  wisest  man  of  us  all." 

"Fetch  him  along,  and  we'll  give  him 
an  examination.  I've  no  doubt  he'll  pass 
muster." 

The  baby  was  just  six  months  old,  "  fresh 
as  the  morn  and  brilliant  as  its  star."  Dick 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


117 


bounced  him  with  his  big  arms,  and  he 
seemed  like  embodied  music.  Polly  fol- 
lowed close  behind,  watching  every  dainty 
motion  of  the  remarkable  youngster ;  for  of 
course  he  was  remarkable.  Babies  are  al- 
ways on  the  popular  side,  and  might  be 
Presidents,  if  only  by  some  magic  they  could 
contrive  to  be  as  smart  when  grown  up  as 
when  they  are  born.  Who  can  tell  why 
manhood  does  not  justify  all  the  brilliant 
promises  of  babyhood  ? 

Juncta  Juvant  was  this  baby's  musical 
name. 

"  That's  the  motto  of  our  fire  department," 
said  Dick.  "'  United  they  assist.'  How's 
that  name  for  a  baby  ?  We  call  him  June 
for  short." 

"  Stick  to  that  name,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  like 
it,  because  it  means  something." 

"  It's  a  good  motto,  *  United  they  assist.' 
That's  humanity,  and  that's  sense." 

"  We'll  take  this  baby  as  a  prophet  of  the 
future,"  said  Charlie.  "  He  shall  tell  of  what 
will  be  in  the  good  time  coming,  when, 
instead  of  fighting  each  other,  we  shall  help 
each  ether." 

"  Will  that  time  come?" 

"  Yes,  so  sure  as  this  baby  laughs.  Look 
at  him.  There's  a  fortune  in  every  dimple. 
I  hope  you  won't  spoil  him,  Dick." 

'*  I  don't  mean  to,"  said  Dick.  "  I  won't 
lick  him  any  way,  nor  give  him  candy  to 
eat.  For  the  rest,  I  guess  he  can  take 
better  care  of  himself  than  I  can." 

"  You've  hit  it,"  said  Charlie.  " I'd  hate 
to  have  him  go  to  school  and  learn  Greek 
and  Latin,  as  I  suppose  he  must  in  order  to 
be  respectable." 

"  I  want  he  should  know  more  than  I  do," 
said  Dick.  "  Knowledge  does  help  a  man." 

"  Real  knowledge  does,  but  it's  a  question 
if  one  don't  get  more  of  that  out  of  school 
than  in  it." 

"  He  shan't  go  to  school  yet  awhile,"  said 
Polly.  "  I'll  teach  him  his  letters." 

"That  you  will,"  said  Charlie.  "But 
don't  spoil  him  with  too  much  care.  Let 
him  go  bare-foot  and  build  mud-pies." 

"I'll  see  to  it  that  he's  no  house-plant," 


said  Dick.  "  I  believe  in  out-doors.  It  has 
taught  me  the  heft  of  what  I  know,  and  it'll 
teach  him  something  too.  We  get  lots  out 
of  our  tussle  with  the  elements.  In  driving 
the  large  herds  over  the  prairies,  I  could  beat 
the  college  chaps  in  seeing  what  was  going 
on.  I  remember  one  poor  devil  came  down 
there  to  take  a  hand  in  our  wild  life.  He 
was  glib  on  Greek  and  Latin,  I  tell  you ;  and 
he  had  a  cartload  of  books,  but  he  threw 
them  all  away,  and  went  to  studying  the 
horses  and  cattle.  He  could  hardly  tell  a 
mule  from  a  cow  at  first,  or  a  dandelion 
from  a  sunflower,  although  he  could  call  'em 
by  the  longest  names.  He  got  toughened 
to  it,  and  became  a  mighty  good  drover ;  but 
he  forgot  his  Greek  and  Latin,  and  now  he 
can  raise  the  best  cattle  in  Texas." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  to  make  June  a  col- 
lege boy." 

"Of  course.  He  can  take  the  higher 
branches  at  least,  like  rowing  and  football. 
I'm  bound  he  shall  know  all  about  them. 
I  hope  he'll  catch  Latin  enough  to  translate 
his  own  name,  and  I  want  he  should  figger ; 
and  I'm  in  hopes  he  can  make  a  stump- 
speech." 

"Make  a  stump-speech?  You  want  he 
should  run  for  office  ?  " 

"  That's  kind  of  natural,  you  know.  Every 
true  American  likes  to  run  for  office.  It's  in 
the  blood.  It  don't  hurt  a  man,  unless  he's 
whipped." 

"Hurrah  for  democracy!"  said  Charlie. 
"  That's  what  it  means,  that  everybody  shall 
run  for  office.  Poor  June,  alas  1  you  must 
be  a  typical  American." 

"I  shan't  insist  upon  it,"  said  Dick. 
"  Perhaps  he'd  rather  work  for  a  living." 

"  He  may  be  lucky  enough  for  that.  I 
hope  he  will  win  his  bread  in  the  sweat  of 
his  face." 

June  seemed  to  take  all  these  words  in 
and  understand  their  meaning.  He  was 
indeed  a  prodigious  youth.  Polly  danced 
around  as  bright  as  a  butterfly,  and  it  is 
marvellous  what  heaps  of  work  she  did 
besides  caring  for  the  baby. 

"  How  your  fingers  fly  1 "  said  Charlie,  as  he 


118 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


watched  her  sewing.    "  I  should  think  you'd 
want  a  little  rest." 

"  That's  not  our  business,"  said  Polly: 
"  Men  rest,  but  we  women  have  to  keep  on." 

"That's  not  fair.  I  think  we  ought  to 
change  works." 

"Oh,"  laughed  Polly,  "then  we'd  have  to 
do  it  all.  We'd  finish  your  job  in  a  jiffy. 
You'd  bungle  ours,  and  we'd  have  to  do  it 
over  again." 

"  Women  are  a  blessing,  and  no  mistake. 
I  begin  to  appreciate  them." 

"How  fortunate  —  for  you!  We  always 
have  appreciated  ourselves,  and  have  had 
the  fun  of  knowing  that  we  were  doing 
something." 

"  We  don't  have  that  enjoyment.  Our 
general  feeling  is  that  we  are  in  the  way." 

"Not  so  bad  as  that.  You  are  slightly 
endurable,"  laughed  Polly. 

"  Then,  I'll  remain ;  and,  if  I  can't  be  use- 
ful, I  will  try  to  be  ornamental." 

" *  A  Japanese  young  man,'  I  suppose,  as  I 
heard  them  sing  the  other  night." 

"  So  you  have  heard  the  new  opera,  then. 
What  do  you  think  of  the l  aesthetic  craze '  ?  " 

"  It's  sensible.    I  believe  in  looking  well." 

"  That's  woman's  art ;  but  how  are  knee- 
breeches  for  a  man  ?  " 

"The  knee-breeches  are  handsome,  but 
the  man  doesn't  seem  to  suit  them.  He's  not 
handsome  enough." 

"That's  the  trouble.  We  can't  be  aes- 
thetic. Beauty  is  for  woman." 

"  And  we  make  the  most  of  it,  don't  we  ?  " 

"  That  seems  to  be  woman's  privilege,  and 
I  admit  she  has  almost  learned  the  art  of 
transfiguration  through  her  supreme  art  of 
dress;  but  I  fear  we  may  never  know 
whether  her  art  is  true  or  false.  The  influ- 
ence of  adornment  is  so  subtle  that  we  can- 
not decide  whether  it  is  woman  through  her 
dress  or  dress  through  the  woman  that  is 
delighting  us.  Moreover,  we  don't  know 
why  a  fashion  accepted  as  artistic  and  grace- 
ful to-day  is  banished  as  awkward,  uncouth, 
to-morrow.  If  there  are  absolute  and  eter- 
nal laws  of  beauty  belonging  to  the  art  of 
apparel,  the  same  as  there  are  inherent 


principles  of  nature  that  work  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  beauty,  then,  alasl  woman 
does  not  make  the  most  of  her  divine  pre- 
rogative, but  is  too  often  misled.  How  can 
a  costume  at  once  be  beautiful  and  trouble- 
some, for  the  purpose  designed  ?  How  can 
a  fashion  which  restrains  or  limits  any  free- 
dom of  movement  have  in  it  the  principles 
of  true  art?  Why  are  women  not  more 
ready  to  use  what  is  comfortable  in  dress  ? 
Depend  upon  it,  this  is  her  only  safe  guide 
to  the  beautiful." 

"Why,  bless  you!"  said  Polly.  "The 
women  would  change  their  dress  in  a  min- 
ute, if  men  would  let  them.  There  is  noth- 
ing on  earth  a  man  likes  to  hate  as  he  does 
a  female  dress  reformer." 

"  I  think  that  is  because  she  does  not  un- 
derstand her  work.  She  must  know  how  to 
be  a  reformer  in  her  field  and  not  a 
agitator.  When  woman  will  dress  for  heal! 
and  utility  as  well  as  for  grace  and  beaui 
then  woman  will  add  another  sceptre  to 
might  by  which  she  rules  the  world." 

"They  are  coming  to  it.     Woman 
take  care  of  herself,"  said  Polly. 

"  I  believe  it,  seeing  that  she  takes  care 
us  so  well.     She's  had  a  double  duty." 

"  And  half  a  reward,"  added  Polly ;  "  bi 
she  won't  stop  until  she  can  make  her  o\ 
terms.  As  for  me,  I'm  satisfied.  Dick  am' 
very  rich,  but  he  has  a  way  of  giving 
change  that  makes  me  feel  independent 
a  queen ;  for  he  never  seems  to  begrudge  ii 
—  acts  as  if  I  had  as  good  a  right  to  it  as 
and  as  though  he  would  just  like  to  give 
a  heap  more,  if  he  had  it  to  give.  I  tell  yc 
there's  nothing  like  having  a  little  money 
call  your  own  and  spend  as  you  like." 

Juncta  Juvant  was  asleep,  softly  smilii 
in  his  wondrous  dreams.     What  an  eterru 
blessing  children  are !     It  is  for  them  we  toi 
and  look  beyond  the  burdens  of  to-day  to 
their    glad   to-morrows.    They   ever   come 
laden  with  measureless  wealth.    The  jewels 
we  place  at  their  feet  cannot  equal  the  jew- 
els which  they  flash  over  our  arduous  way. 
They  are  the  royal  meistersingers.    With 
million  voices,  they  sing  the  beautiful  chorus 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


of  the  dawn,  —  the  eternal  dawn  that  ever 
mingles  with  the  eternal  night  of  life.  So 
that,  in  the  weariest  way,  we  have  something 
of  brilliant  cheer.  Inevitably,  they  are  both 
birth  and  death,  and  each  renders  to  each 
its  largest  glory.  Backward  and  forward, 
the  resplendent  lights  come  and  go,  from 
life's  endless  morning  to  its  endless  evening. 

How  beautiful  is  home  in  the  midst  of  it 
all, —  father  and  mother  and  the  tender  child  1 
It  is  this  which  constantly  elevates  and  re- 
fines. Dick  had  never  been  "  regenerated." 
He  was  a  rough  child  of  the  soil.  He  and 
Polly  believed  simply  in  this  world,  and  the 
common  life  they  lived;  in  the  home  where 
their  affections  gather,  and  the  flowers 
bloom,  and  the  fruit  is  garnered.  It  was 
a  matter-of-fact  world,  but  it  was  all  they 
knew.  Full  of  care  and  perplexities  there 
was  still  in  it  many  a  silver  thread  of  pure 
enjoyment.  The  home  is  not  built  upon 
dogma :  it  does  not  depend  upon  any  system. 
It  grew  up  out  of  the  heart  of  man ;  and  so 
long  as  the  heart  of  man  endures,  so  long  as 
there  are  birth  and  death,  so  long  will  there 
be  a  home  in  every  spot  where  the  foot  of 
man  may  rest.  Here  the  rudest  will  find 
ennobling  influence.  Here  will  be  touched 
the  harp  of  the  world's  sweetest  joy.  The 
Church  may  vanish,  but  the  fireside  endures. 
It  sparkles  with  no  supernatural  light.  It 
glows  entirely  from  the  bosom  of  earth.  It 
is  the  lustre  of  our  humanity. 

The  wildest  heart  bends  to  its  immortal 
shrine,  and  the  bitterest  wound  is  healed 
in  its  gracious  shadow.  It  is  founded  on 
human  love.  It  is  the  constant  mediator 
between  sorrow  and  joy,  bringing  to  the 
former  the  undying  impulse  of  the  latter. 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  So  THE  days  of  war  are  upon  you,"  said 
Charlie  to  Jimmy. 

"  Indeed,  they  are,  pell-mell.  I  have  made 
Tip  my  mind  not  to  run." 

"  That's  right.  You  can't  dodge  'em :  you 
must  meet  them." 

"  My  manhood  is  at  stake,  and  that  settles 


it.  I  thought  I  could  stay  in  the  Church,  and 
in  a  certain  poetic  way  satisfy  the  wants  of 
the  people ;  but  it's  no  use.  There  are  heresy 
hunters,  and  they  have  brought  me  to  bay. 
Either  I  must  be  cowed  down  or  fight." 

"Fight  of  course.  It'll  do  you  good.  I 
have  always  thought  your  method  wrong. 
Sooner  or  later  there  must  be  an  issue :  you 
cannot  join  the  old  and  the  new,  they  are 
radically  different.  Christianity  has  ceased 
to  grow :  there  is  no  more  evolution  in  it, 
no  more  blossom  and  fruit.  It  is  simply  in 
the  stages  of  decay." 

"  I  am  afraid  so.  It  is  hard,  however,  to 
think  it ;  for  how  much  of  the  world's  life 
has  been  wrapt  up  in  Christianity !  How  dear 
it  all  seems,  the  heroes  and  the  martyrs  of 
the  Church,  the  songs,  the  litanies,  the  once 
beautiful  hopes  and  dreams !  I  was  listen- 
ing to  Beethoven's  symphony  last  evening. 
How  wonderful  it  is,  expressing  such  depths 
of  human  passion,  such  glory  of  aspiration  I 
It  grew  out  of  the  soul  of  the  Church, —  a 
marvellous  harmony,  sublime  as  the  stars, 
and  as  immortal,  too,  I  think." 

"  So  say  I !  And,  in  my  way,  I  can  enjoy 
that  music  as  deeply  as  if  I  bent  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Church.  I  grant  that  the 
Church  has  been  a  form  of  human  passion, 
and  as  such  has  expressed  a  real  thing,  a 
tremendous  life;  and  the  music  of  the 
Church  has  thus  been  created  like  the  ocean, 
and  will  go  rolling  on  through  the  centuries. 
Music  survives,  while  theology  dies;  for 
music  was  never  born  of  theology,  but  of  the 
human  heart.  Beethoven's  music,  like  the 
winds  and  the  waves,  is  a  part  of  nature. 
We  might  as  well  expect  the  mountains  to 
cease  to  be  as  these  mighty  strains.  At  the 
same  time,  the  intellect  utterly  disproves  the 
dogma  through  which  this  music  assumed 
its  form." 

"  I  find  it  difficult  to  separate  these  things. 
I  enjoy  the  past.  'Tis  distance  lends  en- 
chantment to  the  view.  Those  old  heroes 
and  saints  and  even  sinners  seem  grand  in 
the  mist  of  ages ;  and  I  love  to  think  that 
their  life  is  a  part  of  ours.  I  love  the 
Church,  the  spire  that  points  to  the  sky. 


120 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


Every  time  I  look  at  the  lofty  emblem,  I 
am  filled  with  unutterable  thoughts.  The 
Church  was  alive  once,  glorious,  beautiful. 
Can  it  be  that  it  is  dead,  and  that  we  must 
bury  it  out  of  sight?" 

"This  is  the  sadness  of  destiny.  There 
was  a  time  when  Christianity  was  new  and 
buried  the  old." 

"I  see  the  necessity.  I  have  allowed 
myself  to  drift.  To  a  certain  extent,  I  have 
confused  my  conscience,  I  have  been  senti- 
mental. One  must  be  true  to  the  dictates 
of  his  head,  or  he  cannot  be  morally  strong. 
The  heart  alone  cannot  be  our  guide,  how- 
ever beautiful  the  visions  which  it  unfolds." 

"How  did  this  come  upon  you?  Your 
congregation  like  you,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Yes,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  have 
preached  nothing  but  primitive  paganism 
since  I  have  been  here,  only  I  haven't  called 
it  by  that  name.  The  people  are  hungry 
for  that  sort  of  thing.  I  read  the  Greek 
poets  more  than  I  do  the  Bible.  The  people 
want  paganism,  pure,  sweet  nature  worship, 
only  you  must  call  it  Christianity.  You 
must  introduce  it  with  a  text  of  Scripture ; 
but,  after  you  are  started,  you  will  find  that 
Seneca  or  Plato  is  much  more  delightful 
to  the  average  Christian  than  St.  Paul.  I 
rather  enjoy  this  sly  preaching  of  the  dear 
old  Greek  philosophy  and  poetry.  I'm 
caught  now,  however.  Skinflint  is  after 
me.  At  the  Conference,  he  asked  me  up 
and  down  if  I  believed  in  hell-fire.  I  dodged 
the  question  of  course,  but  he  has  been  so 
persistent  that  an  answer  is  demanded  and 
expected  of  me.  Several  of  my  prominent 
church  members  told  me  to  say  yes,  and 
have  the  matter  done  with.  They  would 
not  permit  me  to  say  no,  although  every 
one  admitted  his  disbelief  in  the  horrible 
doctrine.  But  they  said :  You  can't  run  a 
church  without  it.  You  must  have  it  stored 
away  somewhere  as  an  article  of  faith,  but 
you  needn't  show  it  nor  talk  about  it.  All 
that  was  necessary,  therefore,  was  to  say,  Yes, 
I  believe  in  hell-fire ;  and  I  could  have  gone 
on  preaching  paganism  to  my  heart's  content, 
and  implicitly  denied  hell  in  every  sentence 


J 


I  uttered.  But  here  I  was  brought  to 
issue.  I  could  reconcile  it  to  my  conscience 
to  conceal  the  truth ;  but,  when  it  came  to 
telling  an  outright  lie,  then  my  conscience 
revolted.  I  couldn't  silence  Skinflint,  and 
I  couldn't  keep  the  golden  silence  I  had 
desired  for  myself." 

"  Why  don't  you  withdraw  without  mak- 
ing any  battle  ?  You  don't  believe  in  this 
fundamental  Christian  doctrine.  Why  not 
quietly  step  down  and  out?  Why  remain 
in  the  Church  at  the  sword's  point  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  men  of  the  world  look  at  it 
in  this  way.  It  seems  the  commou -sense 
way.  What  is  the  use  of  a  squabble  ?  But, 
in  these  things,  each  must  act  out  his  own 
life.  I  am  so  constituted  that  I  cannot  take 
the  responsibility  of  going  forth  from  the 
Church.  To  do  so  would  cause  me  infinite 
pain.  It  is  like  bidding  an  eternal  farewell 
to  a  mother.  I  know  that  I  radically  differ 
from  the  church  creed,  but  the  Church  is 
more  than  a  creed.  It  has  been  a  life,  a 
part  of  the  moral  progress  of  the  race ;  and 
I  say  to  myself,  Because  I  hate  the  creed,  must 
I  tear  myself  from  the  soul  I  love  ?  Will 
not  the  creed  perish,  while  the  soul  endures? 
It  is  with  the  innermost  spirit  of  the  Church, 
as  breathed  by  a  thousand  noble  men  and 
women  in  the  centuries  that  are  gone,  that 
1  agree ;  and,  spite  of  the  dogmas,  I  would 
abide  with  that.  So  I  cannot  follow  the 
cool  dictates  of  my  head.  I  cannot  pack  up 
my  trunk  and  leave  the  old  home  with  a  for- 
mal good-by,  for  I  cannot  take  all  tny  in- 
heritance with  me.  A  thousand  things  I 
must  leave  behind.  Of  my  own  will,  I  can- 
not go.  The  Church  itself  must  take  the 
responsibility,  and  thrust  me  forth.  I  do 
not  desire  martyrdom  nor  notoriety.  My 
purpose  is  to  let  the  Church  make  the  fiat 
of  my  departure.  I  have  a  right  to  do  this, 
in  order  that  ever  after  I  may  be  certain  of 
my  course,  and  never  cast  one  longing  look 
behind.  I  ask  the  Church  to  let  me  work 
in  sincerity,  just  as  I  am,  amid  its  dear  as- 
sociations. If  it  refuses,  then  from  hence- 
forth I  am  free,  and  the  whole  universe  shall 
be  my  home." 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


121 


"  How  does  your  wife  take  this  change  ?  " 

"She  is  thorough  orthodox,  I  believe. 
She  was  born  and  bred  to  it,  and  never  ques- 
tioned it.  I  have  not  had  an  hour's  talk 
with  her  upon  the  subject.  When  I  told  her 
the  issue  that  was  to  be  met,  she  was  with 
me  at  once.  I  was  indeed  astonished.  She 
had  been,  I  think,  most  of  her  life,  in  a  sort 
of  chrysalis  state,  her  artistic  nature  brood- 
ing amid  a  stiff  wrapping  of  outward  Ortho- 
doxy. When  the  moment  came  for  her  real 
life  to  be  manifested,  then  she  flew  forth,  free 
from  dogma,  ready  to  enjoy  all  the  glory  of 
the  new-found  sky.  She  represents  the  slow 
and  subtle  progress  of  the  artistic  or  purely 
poetic  nature.  The  intellectual  nature  goes 
forth  first ;  while  art  remains  at  home,  and 
dwells  in  the  order  already  attained.  It 
dreads  to  go  forth  into  the  raw,  rough  world. 
It  wants  the  comfortable  fireside.  But  when 
the  sturdy  intellect,  in  spite  of  all  obstacles, 
has  built  up  a  new  world,  more  beautiful 
because  more  truthful,  than  the  old,  then  art 
hastens  to  dwell  therein.  Do  we  not  see  how 
all  literature,  painting,  sculpture,  music,  are 
freeing  themselves  from  the  trammels  of  the 
past,  and  drawing  their  noblest  inspirations 
from  fresh  human  needs  and  themes  ?  " 

"I  think  you  had  better  come  to  dinner 
now,"  said  the  little  artist,  bursting  like  a 
sunbeam  into  the  study.  "  I  know  you  have 
been  discussing  theology.  It  must  make  you 
hungry,  for  it  is  the  dryest  and  boniest  of 
subjects.  It  is  neither  meat  nor  drink." 

"I  am  willing  to  give  it  up  for  a  good 
steak,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Yes,  we  will  cheerfully  go  to  the  stake," 
said  Jimmy.  "  We  are  willing  martyrs  there 
every  time." 

"Would  that  all  discussion  on  theology 
had  ended  as  comfortably  as  this!"  said 
Will.  "  Why  is  it  that  theology  makes  men 
hate  each  other  so  ?  " 

"  Because  they  talk  about  what  they  don't 
know,  and  there  is  plenty  of  room  for  vanity 
and  prejudice.  What  is  theology  but  an  in- 
finite lumber-room  of  prejudice,  pride,  con- 
ceit, and  all  the  idols  that  man  is  prone  to 
worship?  No  wonder  that  it  makes  people 
crazy." 


"  Don't  talk  it  in  my  presence  then,"  said 
Milly.  "  I  wonder  that  you  men  will 
bother  about  it.  Women  never  think  of 
such  things.  They  are  too  sensible." 

"  That's  the  privilege  of  their  birth,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  They  are  not  expected  to  settle 
the  problem  of  the  universe,  and  so  they 
can  be  happy.  I  do  pity  the  born  theolo- 
gian. He  makes  himself  and  everybody 
else  uncomfortable." 

"  This  dinner  is  a  good  preparation  for 
your  martyrdom.  You  are  better  off  than 
the  old-time  heretics." 

"That  shows  the  progress  of  the  world. 
A  hundred  years  ago  or  so,  I  should  be  in 
a  dungeon  instead  of  eating  this  delicious 
roast.  I  suppose  Father  Skinflint  would 
like  to  see  me  roasted.  But  he  was  born 
too  late." 

"And  you  were  born  too  early.  A 
hundred  years  hence,  your  radical  thought 
will  be  food  for  the  conservative." 

"Not  necessarily.  The  purpose  of  radi- 
calism will  itself  be  served,  when  freedom 
of  thought  has  become  universal.  When 
this  is  done,  free  thought  can  go  no  farther 
in  this  direction ;  for  it  will  have  accom- 
plished that  by  which  all  other  things  may 
be  accomplished.  Radicalism  and  conserva- 
tism will  then  be  succeeded  by  new  terms, 
for  we  shall  not  need  them.  Liberty  will  be 
the  universal  state  in  which  all  minds  can 
peacefully  work;  and  liberty  will  employ 
new  methods  of  science  and  thought,  and 
new  terms  by  which  to  enforce  them.  With 
such  impulse  and  aids  as  these  will  give  to 
future  arts  and  inventions,  what  may  we 
not  expect  ?  Under  this  horoscope,  I  confess 
that,  for  my  own  sake,  I  was  born  too 
early." 

"  Oh,  yes !  It  is  all  wonderful,"  said  Milly. 
"  I  begin  to  wish  that  I  hadn't  been  born  yet 
awhile.  So  many  discoveries  are  being 
made  that  we  wonder  what  will  happen 
next,  and  how  we  would  find  things  a  few 
hundred  years  hence.  At  any  rate,  we 
should  find  a  few  things  the  same.  The 
beautiful  endures,  and  I  for  one  will  seek 
that." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  aesthetic.     To  seek 


122 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


simply  the  beautiful  is  not  manly  nor 
womanly,  is  it?" 

"  Why  not  ?  If ,  as  you  say,  beauty  and 
truth  are  united,  then,  if  we  earnestly  seek 
the  beautiful,  we  must  find  the  true ;  and  we 
find  it  in  the  best  and  most  practical  way." 

"I  grant  that,  to  a  certain  extent.  I 
suppose  we  must  make  beauty  the  supreme 
end ;  for,  as  Goethe  says,  Beauty  is  the  truth 
and  something  more.  Yet  we  know  not 
always  what  is  beautiful,  unless  we  first 
know  what  is  true ;  and  the  most  beautiful 
things  come  when  we  simply  seek  the  true." 

"  The  soul  of  art  is,  indeed,  truth ;  but  art 
manifests  truth,  and  so  becomes  our  teacher. 
And,  through  art,  it  seems  to  me,  the  highest 
ever  comes.  The  poet  tells  us  more  than  the 
mathematician." 

"  Yet  the  poet  must  be  a  truthseeker. 
He  must  be  a  mathematician,  or  he  cannot 
perfectly  express  his  art.  He  must  sing  by 
measure." 

"What  he  seeks  finally  is  melody,  not 
measure.  In  studying  music,  I  must  study 
the  scale ;  but  it's  music  that  I'm  after,  and 
not  mere  technique.  I  think  knowledge  is 
useless,  unless  it  can  inspire." 

"  That  may  be  so,  yet  our  highest  ideals 
spring  from  what  we  know." 

"  Perhaps  not  always.  Sometimes,  our 
ideals  precede  our  knowledge,  and  lead  to  it. 
The  poet  hears  the  song  before  he  realizes 
its  form." 

"  That's  a  bit  transcendental.  You  can't 
prove  it." 

"  Oh !  you  men  always  ask  for  proof. 
We  women  take  things  on  trust.  You  like 
this  plum  pudding,  I  know;  but  you  can't 
prove  it." 

"Except  by  eating,  and  I  will  agree  to 
furnish  the  most  ample  proof." 

"  Well,  the  way  we  prove  most  things  is 
by  eating  or  using  them." 

"  That's  a  good  test.  Anything  that  we 
can't  eat  or  use  is  untrue." 

"Now,  you  agree  with  me,  and  furnish  a 
woman's  reason.  A  thing  is  good  because 
it  is  good." 

"  Then  let  me,  like  a  woman,  have  the  last 


word.  Beauty  is  use,  and  use  is  beauty ;  and 
beauty  and  use  make  for  us  the  truth.  Our 
practical  life  is  the  best  revelation  that  we 
have.  As  the  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the 
eating,  so  the  proof  of  every  theory  lies  in 
what  can  be  accomplished  by  it.  The  uni- 
verse is  a  blank  until  it  becomes  expressed 
in  our  personal  work." 

"I  will  answer  in  music,"  said  Milly. 
"And,  then,  you  won't  complain  of  my 
tongue.  A  little  Chopin  will  prepare  you 
for  your  evening's  entertainment,  the  eccle- 
siastical council,  where  dogs  delight  to  bark 
and  bite." 

She  played  the  sweet,  fantastic  strains  of 
Chopin,  which  so  wonderfully  express  the 
pathetic  and  mystic  side  of  human  life. 
Music  is  the  veritable  voice  of  the  infinite, 
which  in  its  essence  can  be  sounded  only 
through  melody.  That  which  words  have 
vainly  tried  to  exhibit  is  brought  to  us  in 
the  inexpressible  tone-colors  of  music. 
The  wondrous  blending  of  sounds,  the  intri- 
cate harmonies,  the  tossing  to  and  fro  and 
mingling  together  of  delicate  strains  and 
massive  movements, —  these  manifest,  as  no 
splendor  of  thought  can  manifest,  the  limit- 
less soul  of  the  universe.  Music  is  forever- 
more  the  prophet  of  man's  undying  glory. 

She  closed  with  a  little  of  Wagner,  whose 
strains  like  a  sea  of  fire  seem  to  whirl  in 
tumultuous  wreck,  yet  anon  ending  like  a 
benediction.  This  was  music  by  which  one 
could  scorn  the  tyrants  and  fools  that  rule 
by  custom  and  not  by  sense. 

" '  The  shades  of  eve  are  falling  fast.'  1 
must  take  my  banner  and  go  forth  and  cry, 
*  Excelsior.'  I  suppose  by  morning  I  shall 
be  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  icy  Alps  of 
Orthodoxy,  all  my  youthful  enthusiasm 
quenched.  Come  on  I  As  Luther  says, 
4  Though  a  thousand  devils  were  in  the  way, 
I  won't  turn  back.' " 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DEMOREST  was  obliged  to  meet  the  issue 
at  last,  in  spite  of  his  reserve.  The  conflict 
was  irrepressible.  There  is  too  much 
deadly  antagonism  of  thought.  The  old 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


123 


will  not  allow  itself  to  be  calmly  supplanted 
by  the  new.  It  clings  tenaciously  to  life. 
Things  may  go  smoothly  for  a  while,  and 
the  new  ideas  play  nicely  into  the  vacancies 
of  the  ancient  doctrine ;  but,  sooner  or  later, 
some  vital  point  is  touched,  and  the  glare  of 
battle  awakes,  and  disruption  takes  the 
place  of  softly  gliding  evolution. 

The  ecclesiastical  council  was  convened 
to  try  him.  The  church  was  crowded  to  its 
utmost  capacity.  There  were  about  a 
hundred  ministers  present,  a  queer-looking 
company.  As  Ingersoll  says,  they  repre- 
sented the  "  salvage  "  of  the  intellectual  life 
of  the  age.  Of  course,  clergymen  have  a 
certain  sort  of  information  and  ability;  but 
they  always  give  one  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  flabbiness.  Once  in  a  while  there  is  one 
who  seems  desirous  of  throwing  off  his 
clerical  garb  and  being  a  man  among  men. 
These,  however,  have  an  air  of  apology,  as 
if  they  recognized  the  intellectual  inferiority 
of  their  position ;  that  they  did  not  occupy 
the  van  of  human  thought,  and  were  not  true 
teachers,  but  mere  repeaters.  The  mental 
degradation  of  this  class  of  men  is  indeed 
pitiable,  compelled  to  think  they  must  think 
in  chains,  and  tamely  creep  in  time-worn 
paths.  There  are  no  mountain  heights  for 
them,  only  the  jungles  of  ancient  supersti- 
tions; and,  compelled  to  dwell  in  these  jun- 
gles, they  become  a  sort  of  wild  beast,  despite 
their  white  neck-tie  and  sleek  appearance. 
They  will  bark  and  bite  and  tear  in  pieces. 
No  class  of  people  are  capable  of  greater 
injustice  than  the  clergymen;  and  they  are 
utterly  unconscious  of  this,  or  of  the  savagery 
of  their  opinions  and  conduct.  Deliver 
me,  said  a  Massachusetts  judge,  from  the 
methods  of  an  ecclesiastical  tribunal.  Surely 
they  are  infamous.  They  either  whitewash 
or  they  crucify.  There  is  no  sifting  of  testi- 
mony, no  effort  to  discover  the  true  relations 
of  things,  facts  are  perverted,  reason  ignored, 
only  prejudice  and  the  petty  feelings  of  the 
hour  triumph. 

"  It's  like  going  into  a  den  of  tigers,"  said 
Jimmy.  "Look  over  the  crowd.  Can  you 


expect  justice  from  a  set  like  that,  the 
cowed  slaves  of  popular  opinion  ?  " 

"You  might  as  well  take  your  staff  and 
start,"  said  Charlie. 

"I  will  compel  them  to  say  something. 
They  shan't  evade  it.  Half  these  people 
call  themselves  liberal.  Let  me  see  if  they 
are  or  not.  They  hate  Skinflint,  and  yet 
they  will  do  exactly  as  Skinflint  orders." 

Skinflint  was  indeed  the  ruler  of  the  as- 
sembly ;  for  he  was  really  the  only  bigot  in 
it,  and  therefore  the  only  man  of  real  con- 
viction, and  supreme  by  the  power  of  his 
conviction.  He  believed  in  hell-fire.  You 
could  see  that  he  did  in  every  lineament  of 
his  face.  There  wasn't  a  chance  for  a  smile 
in  it.  It  was  the  face  of  a  mummy,  cold  and 
terrible.  He  could  answer  any  question 
you  might  propound  concerning  any  part 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  had  a  thousand  texts 
at  command.  He  was  completely  armed 
and  equipped  for  theological  battle.  He 
believed  emphatically  in  verbal  inspiration. 
The  salvation  of  the  world  depended  upon 
this  belief.  The  word  of  God  must  be  ac- 
cepted just  as  it  is.  There  must  be  no  dis- 
pute and  no  doubt. 

In  forcing  Demorest  to  say  yes  or  no  to 
this  dogma,  Skinflint  was  simply  acting  out 
his  nature.  Others  would  like  to  have 
dodged  the  issue;  but  he  was  relentless, 
because  he  was  logical.  He  said  very  perti- 
nently, If  there  isn't  any  hell-fire,  what  is 
the  use  of  the  Church?  They  all  saw  the 
point,  and  meekly  obeyed  his  summons  to 
the  combat. 

Brother  Balderdash,  a  famous  philanthro- 
pist and  president  of  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association,  was  the  right-hand  man 
of  Skinflint  in  this  all-important  struggle. 
He  himself,  however,  was  not  much  of  a 
theologian  or  student.  He  called  himself  a 
"Christian  worker."  He  took  his  creed 
entirely  on  trust,  and  swallowed  it  whole; 
and,  as  hell-fire  was  a  part  of  it,  of  course  he 
swallowed  that.  He  could  have  swallowed 
anything.  He  was  very  receptive,  and  en- 
tirely obedient  to  the  dignitaries  of  the 


124 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


Church.  He  was  once  a  merchant,  but 
found  that  he  could  make  a  great  deal  more 
money  as  a  servant  of  Christ.  He  had  a 
wonderful  knack  of  begging,  and  raising 
funds  for  the  carrying  on  of  church  enter- 
prises. He  did  some  practical  good  in  his 
way,  it  must  be  admitted.  He  established 
gymnasiums  and  coffee-houses,  and  helped 
young  men  to  procure  situations  and  spend 
their  evenings  with  some  sort  of  profit; 
but  all  that  he  did  was  so  saturated  with 
dogma  that  it  was  utterly  impossible  for 
him  to  give  a  piece  of  bread  without  giving 
a  piece  of  advice.  In  fact,  he  couldn't  tell 
a  man  the  right  street  or  number  without 
cautioning  him  not  to  be  on  the  road  to 
damnation.  He  was  a  thorough  busybody, 
aud  acted  as  if  the  salvation  of  the  whole 
world  was  upon  his  shoulders. 

Of  all  things,  he  detested  a  heretic ;  and 
to  deny  the  existence  of  hell-fire  was  almost 
the  unpardonable  sin.  The  only  one  who 
made  any  attempt  to  oppose  the  redoubtable 
Skinflint  was  the  Rev.  Ezekiel  Milkanwat- 
ter.  He  was  not  quite  so  barbarous  as  the 
rest  of  them.  He  had  some  elements  of 
civilization.  He  was  not  cruel  and  he  was 
not  bigoted.  He  read  Darwin  and  slightly 
affected  Spencer.  He  was  very  much  in 
favor  of  the  mythical  theory  of  creation,  and 
fell  back  upon  the  Christian  fathers  for  sup- 
port. He  was  an  easy-spoken  man  and 
hated  quarrels,  and  was  in  favor  of  "  sweet- 
ness and  light."  He  was  of  a  poetic  turn  of 
mind  and  revelled  in  Tennyson,  but  had  not 
one  particle  of  intellectual  stamina.  His 
mind  was  floating  as  a  dream.  He  had  no 
fixed  ideas,  no  continuity  of  thought.  He 
was  entirely  backboneless,  and,  like  a  cham- 
eleon, reflected  all  the  hues  of  every  senti- 
ment about  him.  He  had  a  wonderful  way 
of  saying  nothing.  He  could  not  be  accused 
of  heresy,  for  he  never  made  a  definite  prop- 
osition. When  it  came  to  the  test,  he  could 
believe  as  many  horrible  dogmas  as  Skin- 
flint. Why  should  he  deny  them,  and 
thereby  lose  the  least  comfort  in  this  world? 
He  was  not  the  man  to  exchange  a  theoreti- 


cal hell  for  a  practical  one  by  sacrificing  a 
single  luxury  to  his  conscience. 

Skinflint  made  the  first  address.  "  It  is  im- 
portant," said  he,  "  that  we  settle  the  founda- 
tions of  the  Church.  We  are  living  in  very 
dangerous  times.  The  world  is  full  of  error. 
The  word  of  God  is  being  disregarded, 
and  men  will  not  submit  to  divine  authority. 
We  must  take  our  stand  on  the  rock  of 
ages.  Our  God  is  a  consuming  fire.  We 
need  to  be  saved  from  his  wrath.  We  must 
proclaim  the  atonement,  that  is  our  central 
truth  ;  but  why  an  atonement,  if  there  is  no 
hell?  There  is  no  salvation,  unless  we  are 
lost.  Christ  died  because  of  our  sins.  We 
must  preach  this,  otherwise  we  cannot  arouse 
men,  we  cannot  advance  the  Church,  we 
cannot  make  it  triumphant.  I  love  my 
young  brother,  and  I  want  he  should  see  the 
error  of  his  course  and  turn  to  the  faith  of 
his  fathers.  If  he  does  not,  then  we  must 
deal  with  him  as  a  disobedient  child,  and 
pour  upon  him  the  thunders  of  our  condem- 
nation." 

Skinflint  was  greeted  with  great  applause, 
and  his  remarks  were  sustained  by  the  two 
or  three  who  followed  him. 

The  Rev.   Milkanwatter  then  made    his . 
little  speech,  slightly  differing  from  Skin- 
flint, and  deprecating  any  severe  action :  — 

"  I  agree  of  course  with  Brother  Skinflint 
as  to  the  necessity  of  preaching  hell-fire. 
It  is  a  fundamental  part  of  our  beautiful 
system  of  doctrine.  I  always  devote  one 
Sunday  every  year  to  its  special  enforcement, 
and  I  think  it  does  my  congregation  good. 
They  are  a  little  more  careful  of  their  be. 
havior  for  a  week  or  two.  They  have  a 
realizing  sense  of  what  may  happen.  I  am 
a  stanch  believer  in  hell.  I  feel  that  it 
gives  me  a  strength  and  joy  for  my  work 
that  nothing  else  does.  But  I  advise  re- 
serve in  this  matter,  and  tenderness  and 
brotherly  kindness.  Remember  this  is  a 
doctrine  that  the  unregenerate  soul  is  apt  to 
rebel  against,  as  seeming  too  harsh  and 
cruel;  but  we  must  not  set  our  blind  reason 
against  the  great  Jehovah.  We  must  not 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


125 


be  at  enmity  with  God,  for  his  ways  are  not 
as  our  ways.  .  I  sympathize  with  Brother 
Demorest.  He  is  too  good-natured,  that's  all. 
He  hasn't  looked  upon  the  darker  side  of 
God.  He  sees  only  the  beautiful.  We 
must  persuade  him.  We  mustn't  insist 
upon  too  much  at  once.  As  for  myself,  I 
believe  in  an  eternal  hell  [applause],  and 
that  perhaps  ninety-nine  out  of  every  hun- 
dred will  go  to  it  [renewed  applause] ;  but 
it  isn't  really  necessary  for  my  brother  to 
believe  so  many  will  perish. 

"  It  will  be  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  our 
council,  if  our  young  brother  will  assent  to 
this  doctrine  in  a  certain  sense  and  to  a 
certain  extent ;  for  it  is  all-important  to  pre- 
serve the  soundness  of  our  creed,  or  that  we 
do  not  dishonor  it  before  the  world." 

This  address  also  was  greeted  with  ap- 
plause, for  ministers  are  dearly  fond  of  com- 
promise. Most  of  them  wanted  to  keep 
Demorest  in  their  ranks,  and  they  were 
eager  to  make  the  test  as  easy  as  possible. 
Milkanwatter  was  followed  by  several  who 
advocated  his  lenient  way  of  dealing  with 
the  accused ;  and  it  was  evident  that  persua- 
sion was  to  be  used  as  well  as  compulsion  in 
order  that  the  "  lost  sheep  "  might  be  effect- 
ually "  coralled."  There  were  loud  cries  of 
"Amen!"  and  "  Glory  to  God !"  all  over  the 
house,  and  the  scene  was  both  amusing  and 
pathetic. 

Balderdash  made  the  closing  speech  and 
appeal :  — 

"I  have,"  said  he,  "the  kindest  feelings 
toward  our  wandering  brother.  I  sympa- 
thize fully  with  Milkanwatter  in  his  efforts 
to  make  as  easy  as  possible  his  return  to  the 
fold.  We  must  be  careful,  however,  and 
not  let  the  bars  down  altogether.  I  admit 
that  we  must  yield  somewhat  to  the  spirit 
of  the  age,  and  be  moderate  in  our  demands 
upon  the  faith  of  the  people.  But  the  line 
must  be  drawn,  and  there  is  a  point  beyond 
which  we  cannot  go.  We  must  stand  for 
revelation  as  opposed  to  human  reason.  I 
consider  it  the  most  noble  act  of  my  life  to 
bow  down  humbly  to  the  Bible  and  accept 
its  teaching,  no  matter  how  much  it  contra- 


dicts what  my  unaided  intellect  affirms. 
The  Bible  reveals  a  hell,  an  eternal  hell. 
There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  We  may  soften 
this  fact  as  much  as  we  please,  but  admit  it 
we  must  at  all  hazards.  Unless  we  do,  the 
prop  of  our  faith  is  gone.  If  we  have  no 
hell,  then  we  have  no  heaven ;  and  so  with- 
out hell  we  are  lost.  There  is  no  hope  for 
the  elect.  I  want  our  brother  to  put  him- 
self upon  the  side  of  hell.  I  do  not  ask  him 
to  preach  it,  though  I  myself  desire  it.  To 
me,  it  is  a  very  strengthening  doctrine.  It 
gives  a  force  and  solemnity  to  religion  that 
nothing  else  can. 

"  It  is  for  our  own  highest  welfare  that  we 
preserve  that  part  of  our  creed.  Only  let  it 
be  understood  that  our  brother  accepts  it,  and 
he  may  say  as  little  about  it  as  he  chooses. 
We  come  to  him  in  the  spirit  of  Christian 
charity.  We  don't  wish  to  fetter  him,  but 
we  want  he  should  stand  for  something.  I 
am  sure  that  he  will  acknowledge  the  error 
of  his  ways,  and  like  an  obedient  child 
admit  the  existence  of  the  worm  that  dieth 
not.  On  this  basis,  we  can  shake  hands  and 
be  brothers,  and  labor  for  the  glory  of  God." 

Demorest  arose  to  make  his  reply.  He 
was  greeted  with  a  round  of  cheers  and 
"  amens  "  and  "  hallelujahs."  There  was  an 
evident  purpose  to  move  upon  his  good  nat- 
ure, and  by  a  flood  of  emotional  sympathy 
compel  him  to  say  yes.  It  was  a  sore  trial, 
and  it  required  all  the  manhood  that  Demo- 
rest possessed  to  meet  the  point  distinctly. 

"Brethren,"  said  Demorest,  "I  am  sorry 
that  this  issue  has  come  upon  us :  I  do  not 
see  any  need  of  it.  It  does  not  strike  me  as 
it  does  you.  I  cannot  look  upon  the  doctrine 
of  hell  as  fundamental  to  our  religion,  though 
I  admit  that  the  Bible  teaches  it.  [Cries 
of  "Good!"  "Good!"]  But  it  teaches 
something  far  more  profoundly  true ;  namely, 
humanity.  This  is  to  me  the  deepest  mean- 
ing of  Jesus.  This  is  what  he  really  taught, 
for  which  he  died, —  love  and  mercy  and 
self -sacrifice.  It  is  that  which  has  conquered 
the  world,  and  made  Christianity  of  any 
value.  This  is  the  soul  of  our  religion.  I 
concerned  myself  with  nothing  more.  The 


126 


GOLDEN   THBONE. 


spirit  of  love,  as  illustrated  by  Jesus,  has 
been  the  theme  of  my  discourses.  In  doing 
so,  I  believe  that  I  have  come  home  to  the 
real  needs  of  men  and  women.  You  admit 
that  my  preaching  has  been  acceptable. 
You  do  not  ask  me  to  change  its  character. 
You  only  ask  that  I  give  my  public  assent 
to  a  dogma.  This  dogma  you  will  all  de- 
clare is  abhorrent  to  our  human  feeling. 
We  revolt  against  it.  We  believe  in  it,  be- 
cause the  Bible  says  so,  and  because  the 
Church  is  built  upon  the  Bible.  You  com- 
pel me  to  say  that  I  cannot  accept  this  doc- 
trine. I  do  not  surrender  my  reason  to  the 
Bible  or  to  you.  [There  was  a  tremendous 
unanimous  groan  from  the  whole  assembly.] 
This  is  a  barbaric  doctrine.  It  came  from 
the  brain  of  a  savage.  If  one  actually  be- 
lieved it,  it  would  make  him  insane.  You 
do  not  believe  it.  The  people  don't  want  it, 
and  yet  you  have  not  manhood  to  tear  it 
from  your  creed.  You  are  the  slaves  of  a 
Book,  worse  even  than  a  pope.  I  have 
taught  the  best  part  of  that  Book,  but  the 
worst  part  I  shall  never  teach.  It  is  un- 
worthy of  our  advancement.  There  is 
something  beautiful  in  the  old  religion,  and 
I  have  clung  to  it  on  that  account.  I  have 
sought  to  draw  forth  its  hidden  sweetness, 
and  make  it  serviceable.  If,  however,  you 
are  determined  to  ally  the  Church  with  the 
theology  of  a  savage  past,  and  compel  me  to 
a  lie,  then  will  I  accept  your  fiat  and  go  forth. 
But  remember  the  fiat  that  sends  me  forth 
destroys  your  Church.  If  you  put  your- 
selves with  a  dead  barbarian,  then  the  grave 
opens  before  you,  and  you  will  tumble  into 
it.  You  will  perish,  even  as  these  cruel 
dogmas  will  perish." 

Of  course, -after  such  a  speech,  Demorest 
was  unanimously  expelled  from  the  confer- 
ence, although  three-fourths  of  the  minis- 
ters who  condemned  him  felt  the  truth  of 
every  word  he  uttered. 

"Glad  it's  over  with,"  said  Demorest. 
"  I'm  free  now.  I  know  my  course.  Hence- 
forth, the  universe  is  mine.  What  shall  I  do  ? 
That  I  can't  tell.  For  the  time,  I  can  only 
think  and  dream.  The  way  of  action  is  not 


clear.  But  changes  are  immense  and  rapid. 
There  is  a  great  field  before  us,  and  vast  op- 
portunities. The  work  of  Chainey  in  Boston, 
of  Miln  in  Chicago,  of  Adler  in  New  York, 
show  that  the  deep  heart  of  the  world  is 
awaking  to  a  grander  ideal.  They  voice  the 
new  and  golden  hope.  They  are  the  proph- 
ets of  that  which  is  to  come  fresh  and 
beautiful  from  Nature  herself.  I  may  be 
able  to  do  something  myself :  I  cannot  tell ; 
but,  whether  I  do  or  not,  that  mighty  joy 
of  freedom  and  reason  which  is  in  my  own 
soul  will  leap  from  a  thousand  fountains  to 
all  the  millions  of  the  race.  We  shall  never 
go  back,  but  forever  forward.  What  is  dear- 
est in  all  the  past  of  man  shall  bloom  to  more 
splendid  fruitage.  There  shall  be  less  theol- 
ogy, but  more  brotherhood ;  fewer  mansions 
in  the  skies,  but  sweeter  cottages  on  the 
bosom  of  the  earth. 

"  Religion,  in  its  true  sense,  is  the  harmony 
of  man's  nature.  It  is  the  sentiment  stirred 
and  exalted  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
universe,  expressed  in  forms  of  reason  and 
binding  the  soul  to  progress.  Hitherto,  it 
has  been  at  war  with  itself.  In  order  that 
it  may  hereafter  become  one,  its  method 
must  be  one ;  and  that  method  is  science. 
Science  is  the  Christ  of  the  new  religion, 
the  constant  revealer  of  divine  possibili- 
ties. 

"  That  which  is  to  come  is  not  merely  a 
choice  expression  of  the  olden  truths.  It  is 
a  vast  original  movement,  which,  having 
passed  through  the  chaotic  stage,  shows  the 
beginnings  of  the  cosmos,  of  the  ideal  re- 
public wherein  all  humanity  shall  '  be  good 
and  great,  and  joyous  and  beautiful  and 
free.' 

"  We  spring  from  the  bosom  of  the  past, 
and  all  its  precious  life  is  ours ;  but  we  are 
likewise  children  of  the  future,  and  feed 
upon  its  boundless  promise.  Whatever  is 
sweet  in  Jesus,  heroic  in  Mohammed,  divine 
in  Buddha,  human  in  Confucius,  we  accept ; 
but,  in  the  fresh  light  and  color  of  new 
knowledge  and  inspiration,  we  take  the 
golden  threads  they  give,  but  the  woven 
picture  is  beyond  their  utmost  conception." 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


127 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  San  Francisco  morning  papers  con- 
tained the  following  "  once  upon  a  time," 
subsequent  to  the  events  last  narrated :  — 

Ephraim  Gooch,  the  millionnaire  and  philan- 
thropist, is  now  at  the  Great  Globe  Hotel.  He 
has  just  returned  from  England,  and  brought 
with  him  an  immense  fortune,  received  through 
his  wife,  who  unfortunately  died  on  her  bridal 
trip  to  the  home  of  her  ancestors.  He  intends 
to  rear  a  superb  monument  to  her  memory,  which 
will  no  doubt  be  an  ornament  to  the  city,  of 
which  every  citizen  may  well  be  proud.  This 
great  man  and  lover  of  his  race  is  also  desirous 
of  doing  something  for  the  welfare  of  the  world. 
He  is  about  to  munificently  endow  a  theological 
seminary,  which  will  be  called  after  his  name. 
He  will  establish  several  Hebrew  scholarships,  as 
he  is  extremely  anxious  that  this  ancient  lan- 
guage should  be  thoroughly  understood,  in  order 
that  the  bulwarks  of  our  faith  may  be  success- 
fully defended.  He  himself  has  some  literary 
ambition,  and  is  preparing  for  the  press  a  very 
learned  essay  on  Noah's  Flood,  in  which  will  be 
a  particular  description  of  the  Ark  on  a  new 
and  revised  plan,  which  will  no  doubt  throw  a 
great  deal  of  light  upon  and  in  that  venerable 
structure ;  for  he  intends  to  have  the  window  go 
all  round  the  boat,  which,  as  all  must  admit,  is 
a  marked  improvement  upon  the  old  rendering. 
Mr.  Gooch  intends  also  to  start  a  Bible  society, 
and  has  resolved  to  present  a  gold- bound  copy 
to  every  hotel  in  the  city.  He  is  also  on  the 
verge  of  adopting  several  infants,  and  intends  to 
fit  them  for  the  ministry.  His  heart  is  evidently 
full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  and  his 
pockets  are  overflowing.  He  is  probably  the 
richest  man  in  the  city.  We  welcome  him  to 
our  shores.  We  are  sure  that  he  will  be  a  great 
public  benefactor,  and  will  put  his  money  every 
time  where  it  will  do  the  most  good. 

Gooch  sat  in  his  elegant  reception  room. 
He  looked  quite  king-like  in  his  nicely  fit- 
ting broadcloth  suit  and  gold  spectacles  and 
superb  watch  and  chain.  He  was  obsequi- 
ously waited  upon,  and  requests  for  aid  to 
many  a  feeble  church  constantly  poured  in 
upon  him. 

Charlie  and  Will  and  Jimmy  made  him  a 
morning  call. 


"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  friends,"  said 
he.  "  We  parted  upon  a  very  sad  occasion. 
My  wife  died  very  suddenly.  It  was  hard 
to  part  with  her,  but  the  Lord's  will  be 
done." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  submissive,"  said 
Charlie.  "I  hope  you  will  always  be  as 
willing  to  take  things  as  they  come." 

"I  shall.  The  Lord  giveth,  and  the  Lord 
taketh  away.  He  ruleth  over  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  and  he  doeth  all  things  well.  Not 
a  sparrow  f  alleth  to  the  ground  without  his 
notice.  I  feel  safe  in  his  hands." 

"  It  strikes  me  things  don't  always  go 
right,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Yes,  they  do,"  said  the  deacon,  "  unless 
you  are  a  sinner.  The  righteous  are  alwayg 
taken  care  of.  I  expect  to  be  happy  as  long 
as  I  live." 

"But  suppose  you  shouldn't  be,  what 
then?" 

"  I  shall  still  praise  the  Lord.  He  is  my 
shepherd,  and  I  shall  not  want." 

"  What  if  you  had  to  give  up  all  your 
money." 

"That  can't  be  possible.  No  one  can 
make  a  better  use  of  it  than  I.  The  Lord 
needs  me  as  his  steward,  and  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  serve.  I  shall  not  resign.  I  shall 
not  revolt  as  you  have,  Mr.  Demorest.  I  am 
sorry  for  you.  I  have  some  tracts  for  you 
to  read.  Your  heart  is  not  in  the  right  con- 
dition. Unbelief  always  springs  out  of  our 
depraved  natures.  Read  this  tract,  '  Total 
Depravity  the  Root  of  Rationalism.'  It  is 
very  penetrating.  Here  is  another,  '  The 
Folly  of  Thinking  for  One's  Self.'  It  is 
very  spiritual.  I  am  delighted  with  it. 
Take  them  home,  and  read  at  your  leisure, 
and  pray  over  them.  I  am  afraid  you  do 
not  pray  enough,  Mr.  Demorest.  You  are 
not  in  a  submissive  state  of  mind." 

"  I  am  submissive  to  my  own  sense  of 
right,"  said  Demorest.  "I  could  not  do 
differently  from  what  I  have  done,  and  obey 
my  conscience." 

"  That  only  makes  it  worse,"  said  Gooch, 
"  for  it  hardens  you  against  repentance. 
May  you  be  converted  like  Saul." 


1-2$ 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


"  I'm  ready  for  the  truth,  whatever  it  may 
be,"  said  Demorest. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Gooch.  "You 
reason  too  much.  You  should  give  up,  and 
take  the  Bible  as  it  is." 

"But  there  are  different  ways  of  under- 
standing the  Bible.  Which  way  shall  I  ac- 
cept?" 

"There  is  only  one  way,"  said  Gooch, 
"  and  that  way  I  know.  I  have  travelled  it. 
Follow  me,  and  you  are  safe." 

«  That's  the  sum  of  it  then.  In  order  to 
be  saved,  I  must  interpret  the  Bible,  and  be- 
lieve it  as  you  do.  So  it  is,  after  all,  your 
individual  credo  that  I  must  adopt.  Even 
the  Bible  won't  save  me,  if  I  differ  from 
you." 

"  I  have  been  illuminated  by  the  Spirit, 
and  cannot  be  mistaken." 

"Perhaps  so,  time  will  tell,"  said  Charlie. 
"  I  understand  you  have  great  property 
through  your  wife,  and  intend  to  use  it  for 
the  advancement  of  the  Church." 

"That  is  my  plan.  I  want  to  do  good. 
It  seems  as  if  the  Lord  had  performed  a 
miracle  in  my  favor,  and  that  I  was  specially 
endowed." 

"  You  believe  in  miracles  then,  even  at  the 
present  day?" 

"  Yes :  God  will  always  interfere  to  pro- 
tect his  saints." 

"You  believe  in  raising  from  the  dead 
then?" 

"  That  has  always  happened  in  the  history 
of  the  Church." 

"  Would  a  resurrection  be  possible  now?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  might." 

"If  you  should  see  one  living  that  you 
thought  dead,  would  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  had  sufficient  evidence." 

"  But  you  renounce  evidence,  and  say  we 
must  believe  on  faith." 

"Circumstances  alter  cases.  It  depends 
on  what  the  miracle  is  for." 

"You  mean  it  depends  whether  it's  for  or 
against  your  interest.  I  can  well  believe  it. 
I've  a  miracle  that  surpasses  all  your  Bible 
miracles,  yet  it  has  been  done  by  human 
science." 


"  I  despise  science,"  said  Gooch.  "  It  can't 
perform  miracles.  It  is  of  the  devil." 

"  No  doubt  you'll  think  so  before  you  get 
through.  Science  will  be  a  devil  to  you,  and 
an  avenging  angel.  Do  I  not  know  that  you 
married  Blanche  by  force?" 

"  You  can't  prove  it.  She  is  at  rest,  and 
your  word  is  good  for  nothing." 

"  I  can  prove  it." 

"  I  defy  you,"  said  Gooch. 

"  And  1  defy  you,"  said  Charlie.  "  I  can 
prove  it  by  Blanche's  own  lips." 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  said  Gooch,  turning  pale. 
"She  is  in  the  deep  sea.  I  saw  her  there 
myself,  sinking  from  sight  forever,  thank 
God!" 

"  She  might  rise  from  the  sea." 

"  Impossible  1 "  said  Gooch :  "  the  laws  of 
nature  are  against  it." 

"But  couldn't  God  do  it?" 

"He  wouldn't  do  it.  It  isn't  for  his  in- 
terest to." 

"  Not  for  your  God,  I  grant ;  but,  if  there 
is  a  God  of  justice  and  mercy  in  the  uni- 
verse, it  was  for  his  interest  to  do  it, — that 
a  great  wrong  might  be  righted,  that  a  vil- 
lain might  be  punished." 

"  There  is  no  such  God  as  that.  There  is 
only  the  Bible  God ;  and  he  lets  nature  take 
her  way,  and  the  dead  are  dead  forever." 

"Yes,  your  Bible  God  is  asleep:  villany 
might  flourish  for  anything  that  he  does. 
He  is  the  puppet  of  your  own  fancy.  Let 
me  tell  you  that  Blanche  is  not  dead.  She 
lives  to  claim  her  own." 

"You  are  crazy!  You  dare  to  threaten 
me?  Go!  I  am  safe." 

"You  think  the  waters  of  the  sea  roll 
between  you  and  your  victim.  But  know 
that  there  is  a  God  in  humanity  that  has 
circumvented  your  vile  purposes,  the  human 
intellect  itself,  and  science  that  you  so  much 
deride.  Blanche  did  not  die.  It  was  only 
the  semblance  of  death.  She  was  taken 
from  the  sea  by  human  hands,  and  in  living 
flesh  and  blood  is  ready  to  meet  you  and 
claim  the  millions  that  you  have  put  your 
villanous  clutch  upon." 

"It's    impossible!"    cried  Gooch.      "I'll 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


129 


not  believe  it.  It's  beyond  human  power. 
Even  if  she  were  not  dead,  you  could  not 
have  saved  her." 

"I  saved  her  myself,"  said  Charlie.  "I 
was  in  the  sea,  and  bore  her  in  my  arms  to 
the 'Albatross/" 

"And  I  was  there  too,"  said  the  doctor, 
bursting  into  the  room  with  Paddie.  "It 
was  my  invention  that  saved  her.  I  am  one 
of  the  witnesses." 

"And  I  another,"  said  Paddie. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  cried 
Charlie.  "  I  didn't  expect  you.  Welcome ! " 

"Just  from  the  sea.    We've  had  a  gay 
time,  loaded  with  treasures;  and  now  we 
are  just  on  time  to  witness  the  punishment  ^ 
of  this  sinner.    I'm  ready  to  lend  a  hand." 

"  This  is  all  nonsense,"  said  Gooch.  "  You 
think  to  frighten  me:  you  cannot  do  it. 
I  have  no  faith  in  your  absurd  stories. 
This  money  is  mine,  and  I  will  not  surren- 
der it." 

"  You  laugh,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You  are 
blind  as  a  bat.  You  don't  know  what  sci- 
ence can  do.  It  is  bigger  than  your  God, 
I  can  assure  you.  Jehovah  can't  hold  a 
candle  to  it." 

"It  can't  raise  the  dead,  that  I  know," 
said  Gooch. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"It's  impossible.  I  would  never  believe 
it,  if  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  Though  a 
thousand  told  me,  I  would  swear  that  my 
senses  deceived  me." 

"  How  reasonable  you  are  all  at  once  1 " 
said  the  doctor.  "No  amount  of  testimony 
could  convince  you  that  a  miracle  happened 
to-day.  If  testimony  is  so  insufficient  now, 
why  not  equally  so  eighteen  hundred  years 
ago?" 

"  Don't  bother  me,"  said  Gooch.  "  I  hate 
your  logic.  I  believe  what  I  want  to." 

"  Confession  at  last,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  That's  orthodox,  to  believe  what  you  want 
to,  testimony  or  no  testimony.  We  stick  to 
testimony,  be  it  for  good  or  evil.  We  have 
no  miracle  for  you  to  wonder  at,  but  plain 
matter-of-fact,  just  what  the  laws  of  nature 
allow,  provided  we  have  keenness  enough  to 


use  them.  We  stuck  to  nature,  and  nature 
has  helped  us  out.  We've  caught  you  in  the 
network  of  her  laws ;  and  you  may  squirm, 
but  you  can't  escape." 

"  No  more  nonsense,"  said  Gooch.  "  You 
are  mad  men.  These  things  cannot  be 
done." 

"Can't  be  done,  O  you  miserable  scep- 
tic 1 "  said  the  doctor.  "  How  narrow  your 
range  of  thought!  What,  when  the  light- 
nings of  heaven  can  be  stored  up  and  sold 
by  the  pound  for  the  illumination  of  our 
dwellings,  when  your  words  can  be  sent  across 
the  sea  as  articulate  as  when  I  listen  to  you 
here,  when  it  can,  even  to  its  lightest  intona- 
tion, be  borne  to  remotest  ages  and  then  let 
loose, —  what,  do  you  dare  to  say  that  this  is 
impossible?  It's  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world.  Are  there  not  subtle  agencies  that 
can  clothe  us  with  the  semblance  of  death  ? 
Are  there  not  instruments  by  which  we  can 
travel  through  the  bosom  of  the  sea?  Could 
we  not  seize  and  bear  the  body  of  Blanche  to 
a  place  of  safety  ?  This  we  did.  We  have 
not  violated,  but  have  simply  worked  in  and 
through  the  laws  of  nature;  and  now  you 
can  see  what  you  will  see."  . 

"  It's  false,"  said  Gooch.  "  I  stand  upon 
common  sense  and  reason.  I  believe  in 
matter  of  fact.  This  is  a  mere  dream  that 
you  speak  of.  I  am  master  of  the  situation, 
and  I  defy  you  again.  What  I  have  done  I 
have  done.  You  cannot  touch  my  gold. 
No  jury  in  the  world  would  credit  your 
wild  tale." 

"  Wouldn't  they  ?  "  said  Charlie.  «  Well, 
under  the  circumstances,  a  jury  happens  to 
be  of  no  importance." 

The  door  opened,  and  Blanche  with  Cap- 
tain Furgeson  and  his  wife  came  walking 
in.  A  deathly  pallor  overspread  the  feat- 
ures of  Gooch.  He  trembled  violently. 
His  teeth  chattered.  He  could  not  speak 
for  a  moment. 

"  My  God  I  it  cannot  be  I "  he  cried,  as  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  This  is  too 
horrible!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  awful  silence. 
Goocb  was  completely  crushed. 


130 


GOLDEN  THBONE. 


"Do  you  submit?"  said  Charlie,  after  a 
moment. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

A  police  officer  stepped  in.  Gooch  looked 
at  him  with  a  vacant  stare. 

"  You  must  answer  for  your  crime,"  said 
Charlie.  "  Resistance  is  useless.  You  must 
find  your  consolation  in  the  prison.  Blanche 
claims  her  own.  There  must  be  no  delay. 
To  quote  a  little  Scripture,  «  The  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard.' " 

Grooch  slightly  recovered  himself.  His 
hypocrisy  had  become  such  a  habit  that  it 
was  really  a  part  of  his  nature. 

"  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth," 
he  said.  "I  hope  I  shall  be  able  still  to 
serve  him." 

"  You'll  make  a  good  chaplain,  and  can 
preach  for  the  edification  of  your  fellow- 
convicts.  The  devil  has  failed  you,  and 
you'd  better  stick  to  the  Lord  after  this." 

"  Alas  for  that  theological  seminary  and 
those  poor  students  and  missionaries !  I  did 
it  for  their  sake.  The  dream  of  my  life  is 
gone. 

"  Oh,  this  unregenerate  world  1 "  said  the 
deacon,  as  he  passed  out  between  a  couple 
of  police  officers. 

"  You  are  in  the  nick  of  time  to  see  the 
grand  consummation,"  said  Charlie  to  the 
doctor  and  Paddie.  "  The  sinners  have  the 
best  of  it  this  time,  haven't  they  ?  This  is 
a  kind  of  a  judgment  scene  that  I  believe 
in,  where  the  goats  have  something  to  say 
in  the  matter  and  are  not  shoved  unceremo- 
niously off.  The  lamb-like  deacon  has 
played  his  trump  card,  and  lost." 

"  We  arrived  this  morning,"  said  Paddie, 
"and  came  directly  to  the  scene  of  battle. 
We  wanted  to  be  in  on  the  home-stretch. 
It  was  nip  and  tuck  with  miracle  and 
nature,  but  nature  has  the  best  of  it.  I 
rather  think  we  surprised  the  deacon  when 
we  showed  what  really  can  be  done,  if  we 
know  how.  I  think  for  a  moment  he  actu- 
ally disbelieved  the  Scriptures." 

"  Only  for  a  moment ;  for  his  belief  is  so 
inwrought  with  his  selfishness  that  to  lose 
his  faith  would  be  like  losing  his  life.  He 


will  preach  and  pray  as  long  as  he  lives,  and 
at  the  same  time  be  a  damnable  villain.** 

"I  did  want  to  give  him  a  few  parting 
words,"  said  Blanche,  "but  he  looked  so 
crestfallen  that  I  could  say  nothing.  I  must 
have  seemed  to  him  like  a  ghost.  My  pres- 
ence was  the  greatest  punishment  he  could 
have,  and  no  words  I  could  utter  would 
have  pierced  him  more.  Yet  it  makes  me 
indignant  to  feel  that  he  justifies  his  crime 
to  his  own  heart  by  the  thought  that  he  is 
doing  it  to  the  glory  of  God.  This  man 
will  never  feel  that  he  has  done  wrong. 
You  cannot  penetrate  his  soul  with  any 
remorse.  He  is  only  sorry  because  he  has 
failed;  and,  if  he  had  succeeded,  how  the 
world  would  have  praised  him !  He  would 
have  been  heralded  as  a  saint.  Justice  has 
triumphed;  and  it  will  triumph  again  and 
again,  but  only  through  humanity  and 
science.  I  will  forget  this  merciless  villain. 
I  am  free  now,  and  love  is  in  the  air,  and 
all  the  beauty  of  nature.  How  beautiful  this 
world  will  be  when  freed  from  these  horrid 
delusions,  and  we  rejoice  simply  in  one 
another;  when  we  have  no  fear,  and  are 
strong  because  we  know  and  can  use  what 
really  isl  I  have  wealth  now;  and  I  will 
pour  it  forth  for  the  benefit  of  a  living  hu- 
manity, to  clothe  and  feed  their  bodies  and 
give  them  true  knowledge." 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ALL  was  merry  as  a  marriage  bell. 

"  The  love  knot  is  to  be  tied  is  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is  so  far  as  outward  ceremony 
is  concerned." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  a  ceremony,  if  the 
heart  and  mind  are  united  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  question.  We  are  social  be- 
ings, and  must  act  as  such,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  there  must  be  outward  and  public  ap- 
proval. We  can't  live  to  ourselves  wholly. 
We  are  bound  together  like  the  atoms  in 
our  own  body." 

"  I  see  no  minister,  however." 

"I  want  none.  Marriage  is  a  civil  con- 
tract, and  all  I  need  is  the  civil  officer, 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


131 


the  representative  of  public  order  and  de- 
cency." 

"You  don't  believe  in  the  words,  <What 
God  hath  joined  together  let  not  man  put 
asunder '  ?  " 

"Assuredly  not.  It  is  the  voice  of  tyr- 
anny. We  marry  for  human  happiness. 
We  dissolve  for  the  same  reason." 

"Is  there  not  an  ideal  side  to  marriage? 
It  is  something  more  than  a  business  ar- 
rangement. It  is  an  act  in  which  our  whole 
being  is  included  as  in  no  other." 

"Granted,  and  in  a  certain  sense  the 
clergy  stand  for  this  ideal  side;  but  they 
represent  so  much  that  is  false  and  mons- 
trous that  their  presence  is  an  injury.  I 
prefer  the  coming  together  of  those  I  most 
honor,  with  music  and  flowers  to  represent 
the  high  and  noble  quality  of  marriage." 

It  was  a  notable  gathering.  All  our  old 
acquaintances  were  present,  and  they  made 
a  brilliant  and  happy  company.  The  sim- 
ple ceremony  was  performed,  and  then  the 
welcome  flowed  from  every  heart. 

How  happy  Blanche  was  in  this  bloom 
and  splendor  of  her  romantic  life,  so  full 
of  contrasts,  and  now  stretching  before  her 
like  a  shining  sea  I 

Jennie  was  one  of  the  company.  She 
had  come  on  purpose  from  Golden  Throne. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  I  "  said  Blanche. 
"  Wasn't  that  a  queer  life  among  the  hills  ?  " 

"It  must  seem  so  to  you.  But  so  many 
things  have  happened  in  my  lifetime  that  I 
am  not  at  all  astonished." 

"I'm    getting    used    to  it  myself,"  said 
I  Blanche.     "Time  is  a  magician.     His  wal- 
let is  full  of  surprises.     Here  is  Mr.  Baker. 
The  last  time  I  saw  you,  sir,  was   on  the 
!  jury." 

"I  did  my  duty,"  said  Tim,  "though  I 
went  agin  the  evidence.  You'll  admit  that 
things  looked  dark." 

"I  shudder  when  I  think  of  that  trial, 
and  how  fate  seemed  closing  in  upon  me. 
Alas,  how  much  injustice  there  is,  when  we 
judge  by  outward  circumstances  alone  1 " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  obliged  to  judge 
again." 


"We  have  to  judge  sometimes,"  said 
Charlie.  "Crime  must  be  punished,  but 
the  instruments  we  use  are  weak.  I  wonder 
if  it  would  be  better,  if  there  were  no  such 
thing  as  judge  and  jury." 

"That's  my  impression,"  said  Paddie; 
"that  is,  as  soon  as  we  are  wise  enough 
to  substitute  something  more  correct  and 
humane.  Judge  and  jury  are  a  bungling 
and  hazardous  invention  for  the  ends  of 
justice,  and  quite  too  often  insufficient  for 
the  cause  they  serve.  What  a  mechanical 
appliance,  indeed,  to  reach  the  conscience  of 
a  case  1  It  were  almost  as  safe,  so  far  as  the 
principle  depends,  to  try  a  man  by  the  *  rule 
of  three,'  unfortunate  remedy  to  commit  the 
life  or  honor  of  a  man  to  the  verdict  of  a 
jury.  The  question  of  guilt,  or  life  or  death, 
is  so  momentous,  and  demands  such  delicate 
and  responsible  treatment,  that,  even  if  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  were  always  complete 
and  at  hand,  the  jury  applying  it  should  be 
peerless  in  judgment  and  intelligence." 

"We  weren't  bothered  with  criminal  ju- 
risprudence on  the  island,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "  We  enjoyed  the  harmony  of  anarchy. 
Let  people  alone,  and  they  will  behave  them- 
selves." 

"I  think  I  should  have  enjoyed  that 
island,"  said  Milly,  "the  beautiful  flowers 
that  you  speak  of,  and  the  wonderful  curi- 
osities. I  could  have  roamed  over  that 
island  forever,  and  listened  to  the  music 
of  its  trees  and  the  sea  that  broke  upon 
it.  I  have  always  longed  for  the  quiet  of 
such  a  life,  to  be  with  nature  in  her  secret 
haunts." 

"You'd  been  delighted.  I  found  some- 
thing every  day  to  astonish, —  strange  ani- 
mals and  birds  and  wondrous  landscapes, 
caves  that  seemed  miles  in  length,  and  cov- 
ered with  all  sorts  of  gems,  and  marvellous 
ruins  that  carried  you  back  to  the  very 
dawn  of  human  life.  We  must  picnic  out 
there  one  of  these  days." 

"  I'm  ready,"  said  Milly :  "  I  hope  there 
won't  be  any  ecclesiastical  councils  out 
there." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  the  doctor, 


i 


132 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


"no  anathema,  maranatha,  no  Index  Ex- 
purgatorius.  We  can  take  what  we  want, 
and  leave  what  we  like." 

Dick  and  Polly  were  at  the  wedding  of 
course,  and  Juncta  Juvant  in  his  exuberant 
glory. 

"He's  the  lord  of  us  all,"  said  Paddie : 
"he's  the  only  authority  that  I  shall  cave 
in  to." 

"  You  are  right  there,  pard,"  said  Dick :  "  I 
obey  the  baby." 

"  And  me  too,"  said  Polly,  with  a  sly  little 
nod. 

Bobbins  and  Jimmy  were  holding  a  rather 
iconoclastic  revel  over  their  old  fields  of 
labor  and  belief ;  while  Paddie,  animated  by 
his  own  voluble  exuberance,  launched  into 
one  of  his  quaint  and  headlong  speculations. 

Said  Paddie :  "  How  much  of  the  golden 
prime  of  this  planet  must  be  wasted  before 
humanity  will  know  how  to  value  itself ! 
What  a  stupendous  thought  that  this  earth 
has  been  working  billions  of  ages  to  become 
the  fair  spot  she  now  is  for  us,  and  yet  her 
success  has  been  as  perfect  as  though  all 
this  immeasurable  labor  had  been  done  for 
the  delectation  of  my  single  self  alone ! 
Sublime  coincidence  1  First,  that  a  world 
is  made ;  second,  that  I  am  made  to  fit  this 
world  and  use  it.  Yes,  glorious  and  won- 
derful coincidence !  What  if,  after  all  these 
elemental  throes  of  nature,  man  had  never 
come  forth  from  the  mighty  travail  of  her 
loins.  But,  oh,  joy  and  wonder  transcend- 
ing time  and  space!  The  birth  is  safe, 
and  mother  Earth  proclaims  the  miracle  of 
man  ! "  "  Yet,"  pursued  Paddie,  with  in- 
creasing ardor  of  delight,  "it  were  not 
enough  that  all  this  myriad  life  was  formed, 
if  /  had  been  left  out.  Although  how  easily 
could  my  little  clod  have  been  forgotten. 
There  was  enough  without  it,  and  I  may 
never  know  if  it  is  needed.  But,  zounds  1 
here  T  am,  with  a  quintillion  chances  against 
me.  Wouldn't  this  be  a  big  draw  for  a  lot- 
tery ?  Even  so  I  raffled  for  existence,  and 
got  it!  So  here  is  my  fortune, —  drink  to 
it,  folks, —  and  laugh  and  sing  and  dance; 
for  this  is  the  way  to  look  at  yourselves. 


Think  how  you  slipped  into  life  with  the 
chances  of  countless  unborn  against  you, 
think  of  the  poor  devils  you  beat,  and  see 
what  a  miracle  it  is  that  you  are  here. 

"  Here,  then,  is  my  toast  to  the  paradox 
drawn  from  creation :  The  possible  greater 
than  the  real,  as  germs  exceed  fruitage.  Let 
it  be  the  moral  of  life  to  make  the  real  as  great 
as  the  possible,  and  so  justify  our  place  in  the 
real.  I  tell  you  life  is  no  humbug." 

"  Hurrah  for  Paddie ! "  said  Charlie,  as  all 
with  one  accord  gave  three  cheers  for  Pad- 
die  and  his  eloquent  effusion. 

"  Why,  that's  the  best  discourse  you  ever 
preached,"  said  Jimmy.  "  It  carried  the 
seed  all  through  it,  and  burst  into  the  flower 
at  the  end.  That's  it,  the  very  essence  of  all 
morality  and  religion.  You  can't  get  above 
this  '  Make  the  real  as  great  as  the  possible, 
and  so  justify  your  place  in  the  real.' " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  anything,"  said 
Grubbins:  "when  you  think  you  have 
spoken  the  truth,  you  can't  sit  down  on  it 
comfortable,  but  you  generally  find  it  stands 
for  something  on  the  other  side  that  can 
speak  for  itself  just  about  as  well.  So  a 
truth  is  only  half  a  truth,  or  one  side  of  a 
many-sided  truth,  and  you  are  never  through 
with  it.  I  tell  you  humbug  has  its  place  in 
life,  at  least  we  can  make  it  useful." 

"That  is  your  fortune  and  ability.  You 
bear  your  blushing  honors  thick  upon  you. 
Just  elected  to  Congress,  I  congratulate  you ; 
and  I  guess  that  you  will  do  as  well  as  most 
of  them." 

"  I  take  the  world  as  it  is,"  said  Grubbins. 
"  I  am  no  reformer,  I  see  no  use  in  it." 

"  I  do,"  said  Sol  Jones :  "  1  expect  to  be 
made  senator  by  it." 

"Then  I  should  stick  to  it,"  said  Grub- 
bins  :  "  I  shall  take  the  other  tack,  and  be 
conservative." 

"  There's  a  chance  for  us  both.  The 
main  thing  is  to  be  elected.  I  know  that 
I  can  serve  my  country  in  any  position  to 
which  there  is  a  salary  attached.  Pilkins, 
however,  takes  the  golden  mean.  He's  inev- 
itably on  both  sides  of  every  question  by 
natural  gravitation,  and  so  is  universally 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


133 


popular.  I  believe  you  were  unanimously 
elected  mayor  of  Golden  Throne." 

"  Yes,  and  a  booming  city  we  have,"  said 
Pilkins.  "  I  make  things  fly,  a  new  school- 
house  this  spring  and  a  new  court-house  in 
the  fall.  'Education  and  justice'  are  our 
hobbies." 

"Why  didn't  Prince  Hal  come  down?" 

"He  won't  leave  Golden  Throne.  He 
smokes  his  forty  cigars  per  day  and  med- 
itates. His  philosophy  is  to  do  nothing, 
and  he  enjoys  it." 

"I  sometimes  think  he's  wiser  than  us 
all." 

"  My  new  ship  the  '  Albatross  '  is  ready," 
said  Captain  Furgeson.  "  Take  a  sail  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  That  we  will !  "  cried  Paddie,  "over  the 
waves  of  the  dark  blue  sea,  our  thoughts 
as  boundless  and  our  souls  as  free.  What 
a  luxury  there  is  in  the  great  ocean  1  I  feel 
like  the  poor  woman  who  had  lived  in  a 
country  place  all  her  life ;  and,  when  she  did 
have  a  glimpse  of  the  sea,  she  said  she  was 
glad  for  once  to  see  enough  of  something. 
We  are  awfully  crammed  in ;  and,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  sea,. we  should  never  have  the 
sense  of  sufficiency." 

"  I  couldn't  live  ashore,"  said  the  captain : 
"  I  feel  all  the  while  as  if  I  hadn't  room." 

"  The  only  trouble  with  a  ship  is  that  we 
can't  go  shopping,"  said  his  wife :  "  that  is 
all  that  reconciles  me  to  the  land." 

"You  can  come  shopping  to  my  store," 
said  Pippins.  "I  have  some  nice  cabbages 
and  turnips  and  a  little  of  everything." 

"  That's  what  I  want,  a  little  of  every- 
thing," said  Blanche.  "  Don't  you  think  the 
more  we  have,  the  better  we  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  it  is  right  to 
be  dissatisfied  and  eager  for  more.  There 
has  been  too  much  self-denial  and  repres- 
sion. We  feel  the  necessary  reaction  now, 
and  want  more  than  we  can  get ;  but  it  is 
these  restless,  infinite  desires  of  the  heart 
that  have  made  this  earth  to  '  blossom  as  a 
rose.'  If  we  were  satisfied  with  the  least 
possible  that  we  could  use,  there  would  be 
no  progress.  It  is  because  we  want  palaces 


and  not  huts  that  men  know  how  to  rear 
palaces.  To  strip  man  of  his  wants  would 
strip  him  of  his  strength." 

"Is  it  not  man's  wants  that  make  him 
unhappy  ? " 

"  Perhaps  so  for  the  time  being,  but  hap- 
piness secured  at  the  sacrifice  of  our  wants 
is  a  dear-bought  happiness.  Only  that  hap- 
piness is  valuable  which  is  secured  in  and 
through  the  multiplication  and  satisfaction 
of  our  wants." 

"  Is  not  contentment  better  than  riches  ?  " 

"  No,  if  we  are  contented  simply  because 
we  are  ignorant.  True  contentment  can 
only  come  by  possession,  and  riches  are 
useful  chiefly  by  increasing  our  wants. 
Wealth  that  merely  crams  and  stupefies  is 
a  curse.  True  wealth  is  that  which  makes 
more  of  us,  so  that  we  seek  for  more. 
Wealth  that  does  not  create  a  new  want 
is  worse  than  poverty.  It  pampers  us,  and 
we  die.  He  who  creates  a  new  want  is  a 
benefactor  as  much  as  he  who  gratifies  a 
want.  To  be  rich  in  knowledge  and  every 
art,  to  have  accomplished  many  and  beauti- 
ful things  and  yet  to  be  unsatisfied,  is  the 
highest  condition  of  humanity." 

All  departed  at  last  save  Will.  He  and 
Charlie  sat  together,  and  talked  over  their 
old-time  friendship  and  adventures. 

"  How  much  I  have  learned,"  said  Charlie, 
"  since  that  sad  and  terrible  day  !  Madeline 
has  been  to  me  a  most  noble  influence.  I 
feel  that  this  is  her  precious  gift.  Through 
her  purity  and  devotion,  I  learned  to  believe 
in  the  purity  and  devotion  of  others.  It 
was  her  image  glowing  in  my  heart  that 
set  me  to  the  defence  of  little  Pete,  and 
made  me  strong.  And,  now,  all  this  has 
come, —  love,  wealth,  all  that  can  make  me 
happy." 

"  I  rejoice  with  you  indeed,"  said  Will. 

"  I  wonder  that  you  have  not  found  such 
happiness,  Will?  A  man  like  you  might 
love  and  win  the  brightest  jewel." 

"We  cannot  command  love  any  more 
than  we  can  command  genius,"  said  Will. 

"  So  you  have  never  felt  the  divine  affla- 
tus?" 


134 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


"I  did  not  say  that." 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  have  loved  and 
been  disappointed  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  say  that  either." 

"You  do  not  choose  a  solitary  life?" 

"I  do  not." 

"You  have  had  some  strange  experience 
and  have  not  told  me." 

"  Some  things  cannot  be  told." 

"Yes,  there  are  inaccessible  places  in 
every  heart." 

"I  will  unlock  the  door  of  mine,"  said 
Will.  "It  will  do  me  good.  In  this  hour 
of  love's  triumph,  I  can  talk  of  love.  I  have 
loved  deeply,  passionately,  and  yet  I  have 
loved  in  vain.  I  must  walk  the  earth  alone. 
Listen." 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  I  WAS  in  the  army  of  the  Cumberland 
just  before  the  battle  of  Chickamauga.  I 
had  received  a  slight  wound  on  picket  duty. 
It  was  necessary  for  some  of  us  to  be  quar- 
tered upon  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  be  taken  to 
the  house  oc  Col.  Peyton,  a  stanch  Unionist. 
His  home  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in 
the  State,  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
and  embraced  by  lovely  forests.  I  enjoyed 
the  profound  rest,  and  was  really  thankful  for 
the  little  scratch  that  gave  me  cessation  from 
the  turmoil  of  war.  For  two  years,  I  had 
been  in  the  rough  and  tumble  of  conflict, 
knocked  here  and  there  by  an  ungracious 
fate,  and  too  often  with  the  feeling  that 
« some  one  had  blundered,'  so  that  the  great- 
est successes  seemed  to  end  in  nothing.  I 
was  worn  out,  heart-sick  with  the  terrible 
struggle.  I  needed  for  the  time  being  to 
forget  it,  and  bury  myself  from  the  world. 
I  found  some  old  books,  which  I  read  to 
my  heart's  content.  They  were  translations 
mostly  from  the  Greek  classics.  I  had  never 
come  across  them  before,  or,  if  I  had,  had 
passed  them  carelessly  by.  I  was  astonished 
to  find  these  old  authors  so  interesting,  so 
true  to  nature,  so  full  of  noble  poetry  and 
philosophy.  Col.  Peyton's  daughter  Lorena 
was  in  charge  of  the  house,  with  a  dozen  or 


more  servants.  We  now  formed  an  acquaint 
ance.  In  fact,  I  was  deeply  in  love  with  her, 
almost  at  first  sight.  She  was  possessed  of 
fine  intelligence,  and  was  ardently  devoted 
to  our  cause.  She  was  very  reserved  in  her 
nature,  and,  while  talkative,  was  at  the  same 
time  incommunicative  of  her  inner  spirit. 
I  had  to  return  to  the  army  in  a  few  weeks 
and  resume  my  duties,  but  I  was  so  situ- 
ated that  I  could  occasionally  visit  her. 
How  happy  I  was  with  this  vision  of  love 
and  peace  in  the  midst  of  the  conflict !  It 
was  a  balm  to  my  heart,  and  I  yielded  my- 
self to  it  impetuously.  I  did  not  know 
whether  to  declare  my  passion  ;  for  she  gave 
me  nothing  that  seemed  like  encouragement, 
and  I  hardly  dared  to  break  the  spell  with 
what  might  be  an  unwelcome  certainty.  So  I 
drifted  along,  the  days  went  shining  by,  and 
I  was  on  what  appeared  an  endless  stream  of 
delight.  Yet  I  was  admonished  that  this 
would  not  do ;  for  rumors  began  to  multiply 
of  the  advance  of  the  enemy's  troops,  and 
the  concentration  and  forward  push  of  our 
own.  One  night,  I  determined  to  express 
myself  frankly,  and  be  secure  for  the  im- 
pending changes.  It  was  evening  when  I 
left  my  command.  Behind  me  were  the 
long  lines  of  camp-fires  stretching  for  miles. 
I  cantered  along  the  bank  of  the  river, 
which  was  sparkling  like  a  ribbon  amid  the 
hills  beneath  the  lustrous  stars.  My  heart 
was  full  of  fluttering  dreams.  I  believed 
that  Lorena  was  mine,  she  had  sent  me  so 
many  nameless  messages  with  her  eyes.  I 
longed  for  the  turn  in  the  road,  whence, 
embowered  in  the  groves,  her  noble  residence 
could  be  seen.  I  reached  it,  and  with  the 
eagerness  of  a  lover  stuck  my  spurs  into  the 
side  of  my  horse,  that  I  might  the  sooner 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  temple  of  my  soul. 
I  looked,  it  was  all  in  flames.  The  nignt 
was  lurid  with  the  glare.  With  reckless 
speed,  I  plunged  forward.  There  was  tumult 
in  every  direction.  I  reached  the  burning 
mass,  Lorena  could  not  be  found.  Then,  I 
heard  afar  the  bugle-call  that  summoned  me 
to  my  post.  I  must  return  immediately. 
The  whole  camp  was  in  motion,  troops 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


135 


were  gathering  for  the  march,  I  had  to 
plunge  into  the  very  midst  of  the  prepa- 
ration. By  morning,  we  were  on  our  way  to 
meet  the  enemy  :  soon,  we  were  in  the  midst 
of  the  battle.  It  raged,  and  I  was  swept  on, 
miles  away  from  Lorena's  home.  Immedi- 
ately after  the  victory,  I  was  ordered  to 
Washington,  and  not  until  the  war  was  over 
did  I  have  a  chance  to  see  what  was  once  to 
me  the  paradise  of  the  world.  I  found  it 
only  ruins,  and  no  trace  of  her  I  loved.  The 
servants  had  gone,  none  knew  whither. 
Col.  Peyton  was  dead,  and  I  could  not  re- 
ceive the  slightest  clew  to  his  daughter.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  star  of  my  life  had  set,  only 
to  rise  in  the  eternities.  I  carried  her  image 
in  my  heart.  She  was  the  only  woman  I 
ever  loved.  I  could  love  DO  other.  I  re- 
turned to  my  home.  It  was  then  broken  up, 
only  Madeline  was  left,  and  we  prepared  to 
take  our  departure  for  the  distant  West, 
each  with  a  different  sorrow  and  memory. 
That  was  before  we  came  to  Golden  Throne. 
We  located  in  several  places,  and  changed 
about  because  of  the  restless  .spirit  within. 

"  We  took  it  into  our  heads,  at  one  time,  to 
go  to  Saratoga.  We  were  eager  for  a  change 
from  the  wild  Western  life,  and  yet  we  did 
not  want  to  take  up  again  with  the  quiet 
life  of  New  England. 

"  Saratoga  was  indeed  just  what  we  wanted. 
It  was  full  of  the  beauty  of  nature,  and  yet 
was  alive  with  all  that  society  can  give.  It 
was  simply  delightful  to  dwell  amid  those 
gorgeous  hotels,  those  beautiful  gardens,  the 
lights,  and  the  crowds  of  people,  so  gay  and 
happy.  We  stayed  there  for  a  couple  of 
months,  and  Madeline  never  seemed  to  be 
happier.  The  place  was  just  what  her 
nature  demanded,  and  so  we  lingered  until 
the  season  was  over. 

"  The  evening  before  we  purposed  to  start, 
I  strolled  about  the  fountains,  listening  to 
the  music  and  watching  the  people.  I  took 
up  a  glass  of  the  sparkling  water,  and  drank 
in  remembrance  of  the  happy  days  now 
gone.  A  lady  beside  me  was  waiting  for  the 
cup.  I  filled  and  handed  it  to  her ;  and,  as  I 
looked  into  her  face,  I  recognized  Lorena. 


"  I  grasped  her  hand.  She  seemed  to  re- 
turn the  pressure  somewhat  coldly,  yet  her 
eyes  showed  that  she  was  glad  to  meet  me 
again.  Her  face  flushed,  and  she  stood 
trembling. 

" * I  have  sought  for  you  long  and  far,'  I 
said :  *  where  have  you  been  ? ' 

" « Almost  everywhere,'  she  said.  *  Since 
that  dreadful  night,  I  have  not  returned  to 
Tennessee.  I  could  not ! ' 

" «  How  did  it  happen  ?  I  came  out  to  see 
you  that  very  evening,  for  I  had  something 
to  say.  Your  home  was  in  ruins,  and  you 
gone.' 

" '  I  fled  before  the  enemy  came.  I  had 
warning  from  a  faithful  servant.  We  were 
obliged  to  pass  into  the  Confederate  lines. 
We  found  our  way  eventually  to  Richmond. 
There,  my  father  died.  We  were  treated 
with  great  kindness.  After  the  war,  I  trav- 
elled abroad.  Our  home  was  in  ruins,  our 
property  gone.  I  wished  to  escape  the  sad 
and  terrible  memory  of  all.' 

"  *  I  went  back  to  your  home.  I  wrote,  and 
sought  in  every  way  to  find  you.  I  was 
afraid  that  you  were  dead.  Now,  we  are 
together  again.  How  happy  I  am ! ' 

"  There  was  a  care-worn  look  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  seemed  to  shrink  away  from  me. 
She  replied,  somewhat  restrainedly : — 

"  *  I  am  happy  too.  I  thought  we  should 
not  meet  again.  I  have  often  brought  to 
mind  those  happy  days  in  the  sweet  haunts 
of  my  childhood.  How  fast  they  went! 
How  like  jewels  they  were  set  in  the  dark 
bosom  of  war !  How  rudely  they  were  torn, 
and  the  black  cloud  swept  them  from  our 
sight ! ' 

"<They  were  precious  days  indeed,'  said 
I.  'In  them,  my  heart's  blood  flowed  as 
never  before.  Do  you  know  what  I  was 
going  to  say  that  evening,  when,  instead  of 
your  face,  I  met  the  awful  flame?  A 
greater  flame  than  that  was  in  my  heart.' 

"  *  I  might  perhaps  guess,  but  I  will  not. 
Let  those  days  rest.' 

" '  Can  we  not  make  them  beautiful  in  the 
future?  Do  not  the  wings  of  hope  hover 
over  them  ? ' 


136 


GOLDEN  THBONE. 


"  *  Memory  is  better  than  hope.  Memory 
always  abides.  Hope  flees.' 

" 4  O  Lorena,  how  strangely  you  talk  1  You 
were  always  so  reserved  that  I  dared  not 
speak  the  secret  of  my  heart,  until  it  became 
like  a  volcanic  fire  that  must  burst  forth. 
Listen  to  me  now.' 

"  *  Oh,  do  not/  she  said,  with  a  despairing 
expression.  'You  do  not  know  the  pain 
you  give  me.' 

" '  Pain  ?  why  talk  of  pain  ?  Why  should 
we  not  clasp  hands,  and  talk  of  joy  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  we  can  be  friends,'  she  said  quietly. 

"  *  Friends !  That  is  not  the  music  I  would 
evoke.  It  is  love.  Oh,  I  loved  you  so  deeply  I 
Did  you  not  know  it  then,  could  you  not  see 
it, — feel  it?  I  worshipped  you.  I  was  your 
slave.  Ever  since,  I  have  borne  your  image 
in  my  heart,  I  have  bent  my  soul  only  to 
you.  I  can  have  no  other  devotion.  I  am 
yours ;  and,  if  you  refuse  me,  then  am  I  deso- 
late indeed.  Give  me  your  hand,  give  me 
your  voice.  Why  do  you  turn  away,  why  do 
you  tremble  ? ' 

"  There  was  a  deathly  pallor  in  her  face. 
She  was  violently  agitated.  She  drew  her 
hands  from  mine.  There  was  a  look  of  the 
most  infinite  tenderness  in  her  eyes,  and 
then  they  became  suddenly  cold.  They 
were  like  ice  indeed.  With  stately  dignity, 
she  repelled  me. 

" l  You  must  leave  me,'  she  said. 

"'Leave  you!  Why?'  said  I.  'This  is 
too  cruel.  Give  me  some  explanation.' 

" '  There  is  no  need  of  any  explanation,' 
she  said.  'Be  a  man,  I  pray  you.  If  you 
are  a  hero,  show  it  now,  more  than  when  the 
cannon  roared  about  you.' 

"  There  was  a  dreadful  silence  for  a  while. 
A  gentleman  was  approaching.  She  laughed 
a  little  laugh,  and  burst  out,  '  This  is  fortu- 
nate, Mr.  Burnham.  A  merry  meeting  once 
more.  Allow  me  to  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  husband,  Mr.  Raymond.' 

"It  seemed  as  if  I  should  fall  to  the 
ground.  Only  by  sheer  will  did  I  force 
myeelf  to  greet  her  husband.  I  would  not 
for  the  world  have  him  suspect  my  agony. 
I  gayly  laughed  with  Lorena. 


" '  A  happy  meeting.  This  is  one  of  the 
freaks  of  fortune.  Mrs.  Raymond  and  I  just 
shook  hands  in  the  midst  of  the  war  and 
parted  by  the  red  flame  of  battle  :  uriexpect 
edly,  we  strike  hands  again  where  the  voices 
of  peace  make  the  air  musical.' 

'"This  is  a  pleasure  indeed,'  said  Mr. 
Raymond,  with  gracious  dignity.  '  I  hope 
we  shall  know  each  other  better.' 

" '  The  acquaintance  of  an  hour  must  be- 
come the  friendship  of  a  lifetime,'  said 
Lorena. 

"  '  I  shall  do  my  best  in  that  direction,'  I 
answered. 

"  The  '  small-talk '  flowed.  With  tremen  d- 
ous  effort,  I  did  my  share  of  the  conversation 
until  we  parted  at  the  hotel  steps. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  was  a  fine-looking  man,  of 
noble  culture,  several  years  older  than 
Lorena  I  should  judge,  and  every  way  fitted 
to  make  her  a  happy  companion. 

"I  staggered  to  my  room.  The  cup 
bliss  so  suddenly  presented  was  as  suddenly 
dashed  to  the  ground,  and  darkness  was  over 
my  soul.  If  ever  any  man  was  tempted  to 
commit  suicide,  I  was.  For  a  while,  I  was 
actually  insane.  The  very  horrors  of  hell 
leaped  and  burned  within  my  brain. 

«  What  should  I  do?  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
not  tear  myself  from  her  side.  She  was  the 
loadstar  of  my  life.  All  my  passion  was 
centred  in  her.  All  my  happiness  was  at 
her  feet.  I  would  be  her  slave,  if  she  would 
only  let  me  rest  within  her  smile. 

"  In  the  morning,  I  received  a  letter  from 
her.  I  know  it  by  heart.  I  have  read  it 
over  and  over  again : — 

To  my  dear  Friend,  Will  Burnham : 

I  can  only  write  to  yon  a  few  words, —  the  fewer, 
the  better.  We  have  spent  happy  days  together, — 
to  me,  most  happy.  Fate  separated  us.  I  thought 
that  you  were  dead.  Mr.  Raymond  has  been  to 
me  the  kindest  of  friends,  the  dearest  of  hus- 
bands. To  him,  I  have  pledged  my  faith.  I  did 
so  in  my  youth,  my  sorrow,  my  despair,  and  my 
desolation.  Perhaps  it  was  a  mistake,  but  for 
me  there  is  no  returning.  Perhaps  you  pene- 
trate the  secret  of  my  heart.  I  could  not  keep 
it  altogether  from  you,  but  from  this  time  hence- 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


137 


forth  it  is  buried  from  human  sight.  Only  my 
own  spirit  shall  know  what  I  feel,  and  thus  what 
I  feel  shall  be  forever  pure.  I  shall  not  be 
ashamed  of  it.  It  shall  mingle  with  my  divinest 
joy,  and  be  a  part  of  my  womanhood  and  my  con- 
science. If  you  are  my  friend,  and  I  know  that 
you  are,  if  you  seek  my  dearest  happiness,  and  I 
know  that  you  will,  please  to  leave  me  without  a 
word  more.  Let  me  not  see  you  again.  Let  the 
ocean,  if  need  be,  roll  between  us.  We  cannot 
come  together.  The  more  distant  we  are,  the 
better.  No  look,  no  voice,  no  touch,  must  ever 
pass  between  us.  Such  is  the  cry  of  my  woman's 
soul.  Every  feeling  that  you  have  must  urge  to 
renunciation.  I  need  not  write  more.  I  think  I 
can  trust  you.  I  think  you  know  what  justice  is, 
what  wisdom  is,  and  that  love  without  justice  and 
without  wisdom  is  but  a  blasting  fire. 
I  am  your  true  friend, 

LORENA  PEYTON  RAYMOND. 

"  1  read  the  letter,  and  I  read  it  again  and 
again.  I  knew  that  she  was  right,  but  my 
heart  was  rebellious.  I  wanted  to  be  near 
her.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  break 
away.  It  was  like  turning  from  light  to 
darkness,  yet  to  what  other  conclusion 
could  any  manly  soul  arrive  ?  Her  happi- 
ness was  involved,  her  honor,  her  peace. 
There  must  be  an  eternal  separation.  I 
must  turn  my  face  from  her  radiant  pres- 
ence. I  have  not  seen  her  since,  nor  heard 
from  her.  She  is  my  heart's  angel.  I  love 
her;  but  I  love  in  the  heights  of  my  soul, 
where  all  is  pure  as  the  glistening  snow. 
Wherever  I  am,  she  is  with  me,  beautiful  as 
a  star,  flashing  yet  stainless  as  the  dew." 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"YouR  story  touches  me  deeply,"  said 
Charlie.  "It  brings  before  me  the  hard 
problem  of  happiness  and  duty.  We  say 
that  what  conduces  to  human  happiness  is 
right.  I  can  conceive  of  no  other  standard, 
yet  in  this  case  two  beings  are  made  infinitely 
unhappy  in  obedience  to  an  inherited  convic- 
tion. Is  this  right  ?  I  confess  that  I  have 
thought  deeply  upon  the  matter,  for  I  have 
mffered  deeply.  I  do  not  think  that  mar- 
riage is  altogether  best  as  now  regulated  by 
human  custom.  Yet  in  marriage  there  is 


something  sacred  and  beautiful  which  we 
can  never  believe  will  be  overthrown,  hence 
the  delicacy  of  this  question  which  so  pro- 
foundly affects  all  human  happiness." 

It  was  late,  but  Charlie  still  lingered.  He 
was  not  one  to  let  even  a  dear-bought  happi- 
ness take  him  from  a  companion  in  trouble, 
if  he  could  give  one  word  of  sympathy  or 
help.  The  night  was  surpassingly  fair.  Do 
we  not  sometimes  feel  that  nature  will  help 
us,  if  we  could  but  get  close  enough  to 
her,  if  we  could  remove  something  which 
divides  us  from  her  real  presence  of  intelli- 
gence and  goodness?  Will  evidently  ap- 
pealed thus  in  mute  sorrow  to  nature  for 
some  clue  to  this  painful  problem,  for  he 
broke  the  silence  with  these  impassioned 
words :  — 

"  What  a  double  service  nature  might  per- 
form, if  with  her  transcendent  loveliness  and 
power  she  could  answer  by  some  sign  or 
token  to  man's  conscience  of  the  truth  !  He 
feels  that  he  has  a  right  to  expect  this ;  for 
nature  is  eloquent  in  beauty,  and  eloquence 
should  always  bear  some  message.  We  gaze 
admiringly,  imploringly ;  yet  she  has  noth- 
ing to  tell  us  we  would  know." 

After  the  joyous  feast,  the  doctor  had 
quietly  taken  up  a  case  he  was  adding  a  few 
experimental  links  to,  before  he  could  an- 
nounce it  as  a  confirmed  discovery.  Elated 
with  the  prospect  of  success  and  too  ex- 
cited to  sleep,  he  went  out  into  the  calm, 
cool  night.  Full  of  his  usual  suppressed 
enthusiasm,  and  more  than  usually  ab- 
stracted, he  fell  upon  Charlie  and  Will  in 
time  to  catch  these  words,  "  You  say  inevi- 
tably where  we  see  the  Lvrgeot  happiness 
there  do  we  see  the  largest  duty;  but  in 
this  case,  as  in  marriage,  almost  universally 
we  find  uuhappiness  " — 

"Hollo,  boys!  What's  the  matter  uow? 
T  believe  I'm  just  in  the  nick  oi  time  again. 
You  found  that  scienc«  could  help  you  out 
on  mid-ocean.  Now,  I  am  ready  to  show 
you  what  science  can  do  on  land.  *  Mar- 
riage,' ' unhappiness,  --why  of  course,  and 
always  will  be  until  folks  understand  the 
science  of  this  business ;  for  I  tell  you  there 


138 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


is  a  science  of  love  and  marriage,  and  it  is 
the  finest  and  most  profound  of  all  science. 
Gooch  was  binding  a  love,  hand  and  foot,  in 
the  name  of  religion.  Don't  forget  that  a 
false  theology  is  carrying  tens  of  thousands 
of  human  loves  over  the  voyage  of  life, — 
misplaced  and  blighted  loves,  seeking  to  be 
free,  yet  manacled  and  chained  as  effectually 
as  was  Blanche. 

"  To  begin  at  the  bottom  of  this  matter," 
continued  the  doctor,  as  though  the  spirit 
was  gaining  upon  him  to  elaborate  this 
theme  with  his  accustomed  thoroughness 
and  vigor,  "there  is  a  radical  upheaval 
taking  place  in  the  old  order  of  things. 
Theology  has  for  ages  been  held  as  the  only 
divinely  appointed  means  for  man's  re- 
demption, theology  the  only  connecting 
medium  between  this  world  and  the  next, 
theology  the  only  thing  that  could  teach 
man  how  to  live  and  die.  Thus  has  theol- 
ogy, built  upon  the  idea  of  an  inspired  rev- 
elation to  man,  been  used  as  the  fountain 
source  of  all  religious  and  moral  authority ; 
and  man  has  accordingly  looked  to  no 
higher  law  for  human  conduct.  Almost 
every  idea  of  duty,  goodness,  purity,  has 
been  conceived  and  shapened  through  this 
theologic  system.  But  now  do  we  see 
around  us  the  breaking  of  a  new  light, 
the  revealment  of  science,  from  which  inev- 
itably must  form  a  new  and  more  perfect 
system  of  morality. 

Prophets  and  leaders  are  everywhere  turn- 
ing to  science  as  the  consistent  explainer 
of  creation,  and  to  scientific  methods  of 
thought  and  investigation  as  best  meeting 
the  growing  needs  and  problems  of  our  age. 
I  lately 'read  this  in  a  leading  journal  from 
a  professor  in  one  of  our  foremost  colleges : 
*  It  is  now  regarded  among  the  active  work- 
ers of  science  as  a  waste  of  time  to  discuss 
the  truth  of  evolution.  The  battle  has  been 
fought  and  won.'  All  this  points  to  the 
significant  fact  that  man  must  give  up  his 
old  conception  of  things,  and  work  out  his 
salvation  and  happiness  on  fundamentally 
different  principles  from  what  he  has  done. 
And,  true  to  the  necessities  of  the  hour,  do 


we  not  see  a  universal  movement  to  adjust 
human  rights  and  happiness  in  accordance 
with  these  broader  and  truer  methods  ?  It 
is  being  learned  that  it  is  no  longer  godlike 
to  be  meek  and  poor,  that  poverty  is  unnec- 
essary, an  imposition  and  a  curse,  to  which 
man  should  not  submit,  and  labor  is  rising 
to  resist  oppression  and  demand  the  rights 
upon  terms  of  equity.  Now,  consistent  with 
this  new  system  which  yields  to  no  author- 
ity above  reason,  experience,  science,  what 
shall  we  do  with  marriage,  which  is  still 
viewed  as  a  distinctive  and  peculiar  attrib- 
ute of  Christianity,  depending  upon  revela- 
tion for  its  sanction  and  permanence?  In 
fact,  marriage  has  so  long  been  deemed  a 
sacrament,  and  holy  above  all  other  ordi- 
nances of  the  divine  will  to  man,  that  the 
deepest  and  tenderest  sentiments  of  human- 
ity have  justly  centred  around  this  tradi- 
tion ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason  the  last  issue 
to  be  lifted  from  its  sacred  shrine,  and  cast 
before  the  crucible  of  science.  But  must 
this  not  be  done  ?  Profane  as  it  may  seem, 
marriage  must  also  take  her  place  in  the 
scale  of  social  problems,  and  be  studied  in 
the  light  of  science.  Look  around  and 
study  the  signs  of  the  times,  from  the  ten- 
dency of  modern  philosophy  to  the  last 
strike  of  mill  operatives,  and  you  will 
realize  that  a  new  spirit  is  breathing  over 
man.  He  is  interpreting  life  anew,  con- 
sidering its  duties  by  different  methods, 
balancing  relations  by  new  standards,  arid 
establishing  rights  upon  more  enlightened 
premises.  la  a  word,  he  is  discarding  super- 
naturalism,  and  invoking  the  new  authority 
and  religion  of  science  to  serve  our  growing 
humanity.  Shall  we  give  every  other  sci- 
ence a  place  in  popular  regard,  and  leave 
marriage  in  the  shades  of  superstition, 
buttressed  by  priestcraft  and  tradition? 
Shall  we  send  other  topics  to  schools  and 
probe  other  questions  to  their  cores,  but  leave 
marriage  at  home  in  ignorance  of  itself  and 
its  enormous  possibilities  of  good  to  our 
race  ?  Now,  before  we  can  know  the  rights 
of  any  system,  we  must  first  know  its  science. 
It  is  precisely  for  this  reason  that  I  would 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


139 


urge  the  science  of  marriage,  that  those 
entering  into  its  relations  may  know  upon 
the  most  approved  and  rational  grounds 
what  are  their  rights.  It  is  because  the 
science  of  a  thing  embraces  its  rights  that  I 
would  plead  for  the  science  of  marriage,  as 
inseparable  from  its  rights,  in  the  same  way 
that  we  are  striving  to  fix  the  rights  of 
labor  and  capital  through  a  science  of  econ- 
omy and  politics.  So  may  the  rights  of 
love  and  marriage  only  be  found  in  their 
respective  science." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  science  of 
love  and  marriage?" 

"  It  is  simply  the  science  of  chemistry  as 
applied  to  human  affection.  In  other  words, 
it  is  the  chemistry  of  love,  as  explaining 
what  are  the  principles  of  attraction  and 
repulsion.  As  a  science,  it  embraces  a  vast 
range  of  subjects  pertaining  to  the  consti- 
tution of  man  ;  but,  for  the  direct  purpose  of 
love  and  marriage,  it  deals  more  particularly 
with  organization,  temperament,  organic 
quality,  brain,  development,  etc.,  and  ex- 
plains what  combination  of  types  and  quali- 
ties are  fundamentally  necessary  to  the  most 
complete  and  enduring  love.  The  science 
of  marriage,  therefore,  embraces  those  laws 
by  which  the  greatest  possible  fitness  and 
harmony  between  the  sexes  may  be  secured. 
Victor  Hugo  says  that '  social  philosophy  is 
essentially  science  and  peace.  Its  aim  is,  and 
its  results  must  be,  to  dissolve  anger  by  the 
study  of  antagonisms.'  Equally  true  is  the 
science  of  marriage  the  philosophy  of  social 
peace  and  happiness,  because  it  teaches  how 
antagonisms  may  be  avoided.  And  should 
this  not  be  the  grand  mission  of  science  to 
prevent  misfortune?  Give  science  this  op- 
portunity and  sphere,  and  religion  will  find 
her  own  place  and  follow  it;  for  science 
must  forever  determine  what  is  right,  while 
religion  must  furnish  the  impulse  to  perform 
it.  This  is  my  complaint  against  Chris- 
tianity. She  has  arrogated  to  herself  au- 
^nority  which  did  not  belong  to  her.  She 
has  attempted  to  tell  man  what  is  truth. 
She  has  done  well,  and  bequeathed  to  us 
many  high  and  beautiful  ideals ;  but,  claim- 


ing divine  prerogatives,  she  has  dethroned 
herself,  while  science,  claiming  only  for  her- 
self the  natural,  shall  rule  the  world. 

Now,  I  claim  that  this  is  a  science  which 
affords  the  only  philosophy  of  love  that  can 
be  given.  The  secret  of  love  seems  to  be  the 
impulse  of  nature  to  satisfy  her  immutable 
law  of  supply  and  demand, —  a  wise  law, 
and  self-feeding,  by  which  nature  takes 
what  she  needs  and  gives  what  she  doesn't 
need,  by  which  she  balances,  restores,  and 
holds  her  own  forevermore  in  the  universal 
strife. 

Attraction  is  the  principle  she  employs 
to  execute  this  law.  Now,  it  has  been  found 
by  observation  and  experience  that  this  prin- 
ciple of  attraction  operates  to  the  best  and 
most  enduring  results  between  bodies  which 
have  specially  related  organic  differences,  and 
the  reason  is  obvious, —  based  on  the  same 
eternal  law  of  giving  and  receiving.  There 
is  nothing  I  consider  more  vitally  related  to 
this  subject  than  human  temperaments. 
Temperament  has  been  defined  as  'a  par- 
ticular state  of  the  constitution,  depending 
upon  the  relative  proportion  of  its  differ- 
ent masses,  and  the  relative  energy  of  its 
different  functions,'  temperament  being  the 
particular  arrangement  of  masses  upon 
which  a  constitution  is  built,  and  the  rela- 
tive activity  of  its  functions.  It  is,  there- 
fore, temperament  which  decides  the  en- 
ergies and  tendencies  of  an  individual, 
essentially  controlling  and  directing  him, 
and  temperament,  therefore,  which  decides 
what  one  can  best  give  out  of  the  inter- 
blending  functions  of  his  life,  and  what  one 
most  needs.  Guided,  then,  by  this  fact, 
when  applied  to  marriage,  one  should  so 
choose  with  reference  to  these  constitutional 
gifts  and  needs  that  marriage  should  be  a 
coincidence, —  a  fortunate  conjunction  of  all 
that  belongs  to  both, —  a  joyous  reciprocity 
and  a  complement  of  each  in  the  other." 

"  Why  do  you  lay  so  much  stress  upon  the 
union  of  different  types  ?  " 

"Because  temperaments  bearing  certain 
opposite  relations  to  each  other  furnish  the 
best  conditions  for  the  promotion  and  exchange 


140 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


of  life  forces,  upon  which  the  law  of  reciproc- 
ity depends.  This  is  one  of  nature's  most 
persistent  laws,  and  it  will  seek  until  it  finds 
what  satisfies  this  demand.  Science,  then, 
must  teach  men  and  women  how  to  construct 
marriage,  for  a  happy  and  abiding  marriage 
can  be  founded  only  on  these  principles. 
Do  you  want  faithful  loves  ?  They  exist  by 
reasons  which  science  can  unfold,  and  by 
none  other  shall  you  have  them.  Social 
evils  may  also  find  remedy  through  these 
truths.  When  men  and  women  are  fitly 
joined,  they  will  not  want  to  change.  The 
hemispheres  would  fall  apart  before  a  man 
will  leave  a  woman  he  most  loves. 

One  true  love  holds  in  it  the  essence  of  all 
other  loves,  and  a  true  love  will  never  fail. 
It  has  the  qualities  of  perpetual  youth :  it 
never  grows  old,  except  as  the  rarest  wines 
grow  richer  and  stronger  with  age ;  it  is  al- 
ways fresh,  because  it  draws  its  essential 
life  each  from  the  other,  and  so  renews  it- 
self. Bulwer  gives  this  brilliant  epigram : 
'He  who  has  loved  often  has  loved  never.' 
Power  is  cumulative,  and  must  centralize  to 
become  strong.  The  same  of  love.  Love 
will  not  yield  her  uttermost  sweets  and 
depths  except  to  one,  hence  various  and 
simultaneous  loves  are  not  consistent  at 
once  with  depth  and  endurance  of  love,  and 
promiscuous  loves  are  possible  only  as  they 
are  superficial  and  selfish.  When  man  seeks 
women,  he  loses  woman. 

"  I  say  we  can't  afford  to  let  the  Church  or 
State  monopolize  all  the  authority  on  this 
subject  any  longer.  It  works  to  the  regen- 
eration of  our  race;  and,  as  such,  science 
must  take  a  part  in  it. 

There  are  deep  and  underlying  principles 
at  the  root  of  marriage  of  more  importance 
to  the  world  than  it  has  ever  dreamed. 
They  are  many ;  but  I  speak  now  of  hered- 
ity, because  the  laws  of  love  are  one  with 
heredity.  They  work  to  the  same  end  and 
integrity.  Love  is  true  to  its  own.  Every 
strong  and  abiding  love  is  made  up  of 
strength  and  virtue,  energizing  and  creative 
principles  which  do  not  end  with  themselves, 
but  reach  on  to  the  fulfilment  of  love's  pur- 


pose, and  so  restamp  and  perpetuate  them- 
selves. A  great  and  enduring  love  implies 
such  an  adaptation  of  means  to  ends  as 
must  involve  the  harmony  of  its  whole 
scheme,  and  so  give  a  promise  to  its  fruits. 
Who  shall  say  that  Beethoven  was  not  the 
product  of  such  a  harmony, —  himself  an 
embodied  symphony,  whose  score  was  pre- 
arranged, and  set  in  these  mighty  processes 
of  life  and  love  ?  Look  at  it !  How  absurd 
that  the  world  has  never  thought  to  ask  one 
question  about  the  mother  of  Shakspere,  as 
helping  to  solve  the  problem  of  his  great- 
ness 1  Volumes  have  been  written  about 
Hamlet,  and  ten  thousand  conjectures  upon 
every  other  creation  of  his  master  mind, 
but  not  one  question  raised  about  the  mys- 
tery of  his  own  creation,  or  what  were  those 
rare  and  wondrous  influences  which  con- 
joined to  mould  such  a  consummate  genius. 
But  the  secret  is  there:  in  his  parentage 
resided  those  subtle  affinities,  those  felici- 
tous conditions,  which  flowed  to  such  mag- 
nificent ends. 

Now,  it  must  be  the  work  of  science  to 
find  what  are  these  sources  of  greatness. 
She  need  not  despair,  she  has  conquered 
greater  difficulties  than  these.  Astronomy 
triumphs  through  the  persevering  calcula- 
tions of  centuries.  Medicine  laughs  at  the 
impossible,  but  only  at  the  price  of  vigi- 
lance, her  disciples  also  holding  counsel  with 
each  other  through  the  ages,  scanning  every 
form  of  treatment  and  disease,  and  compil- 
ing exhaustless  treatises  in  their  behalf. 
What  might  not  be  done  by  the  same  zeal 
in  this  new  science  ?  It's  a  shame  that,  in 
this  nineteenth  century  of  wonders,  she  has 
scarcely  a  resource  at  her  command,  out  of 
all  the  treasure-house  of  the  past.  Golden 
opportunities  have  been  lost ;  but  there  are 
plenty  left,  if  man  will  wake  up  and  use 
them.  He  must  carefully  study  and  define 
every  force,  condition,  and  fact  which  enters 
into  the  ancestry  of  genius.  Instances  must 
be  noted,  data  and  statistics  gathered,  which 
shall  form  an  encyclopaedia  of  every  mani- 
festation and  circumstance  entering  into 
the  physical  and  psychical  constitution  of 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


141 


genius,  and  which  shall  furnish  a  complete 
summary  of  the  organic  qualities,  tempera- 
ments, dispositions,  tastes,  pursuits,  intelli- 
gence, and  culture,  belonging  to  the  parent- 
age of  every  philosopher,  poet,  inventor,  and 
artist  known  to  fame.  What  invaluable  aid 
would  it  be  to  science  if  it  had  preserved  a 
record  of  these  ancestral  facts  in  the  lives 
of  Homer,  Galileo,  Plato,  Byron,  Shelley, 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning,  George  Eliot, 
Charlotte  Bronte*,  and  the  innumerable 
dead,  whose  rapt  and  glowing  visions  still 
keep  us  company,  and  form  a  living  host !  " 

"  If  these  truths  are  so  important  and  far- 
reaching,  ought  they  not  to  speak  for  them- 
selves, and  not  depend  on  science  to  expound 
them  ?  What  can  outreach  human  feeling  ? 
If  that  cannot  guide  us,  may  we  not  well 
despair  of  science?  Indeed,  if  feeling  is 
worth  anything,  should  it  not  agree  with 
science,  whether  conscious  of  the  agreement 
or  not;  and  so,  justifying  itself  equally  with 
science,  may  we  not  dispense  with  the  sci- 
ence ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  to  what  extent  feeling  is 
blind,  and  must  be  educated  like  every  other 
sense.  I  admit  the  impulse  to  love,  as  an 
instinct,  can  be  left  to  itself,  the  same  as 
man's  appetite  for  food;  but  what  to  eat  — 
what  is  poison,  and  what  nourishment  —  has 
not  been  left  to  mere  taste  alone.  Science 
and  experience  have  all  along  broadened 
man's  knowledge  here.  Besides,  we  don't 
know  what  feeling  might  do,  if  everything 
was  right  to  start  with.  Ignorance  and  sin 
have  mightily  disordered  things,  and  thrown 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  feeling.  It  is  quite 
probable  that  feeling  would  be  sufficient 
to  itself,  if  it  could  have  sufficient  op- 
portunity. Feeling  is  broad,  but  the  condi- 
tions for  its  exercise  are  narrow.  The  fact 
is  that  feeling  has  never  had  a  respectable 
chance  for  itself,  especially  with  woman. 
For  instance,  give  a  woman  the  privilege  of 
selection  out  of  all  the  eligible  men  in  the 
world,  and  say,  'Take  your  choice,  but 
choose  wisely,'  and  I  believe  her  choice 
would  show  a  perfect  concurrence  between 
feeling  and  science.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we 


need  all  the  help  we  can  get  from  knowl- 
edge: there  will  still  be  trouble  enough. 
As  things  go  now,  it  is  the  merest  accident 
if  a  man  or  woman  falls  in  love  right ;  and 
the  chances  are  ten  to  one  that  marriage  will 
end  in  a  tragedy.  Many  unfortunate  epi- 
sodes of  love  are  due  to  various  interven- 
tions thrown  in  the  way  of  affection,  which, 
if  unchecked  at  the  outset,  would  flow  to  no 
evil;  but,  impeded,  it  becomes  a  disease, 
which,  once  fastened  to  a  victim,  is  bound  to 
run  its  course.  It  is  dangerous,  and  should 
be  deprecated, —  these  unnatural  restraints 
to  feeling.  Abnormal  conditions  of  mind 
and  body  ensue  to  induce  too  great  suscepti- 
bility, and  the  imagination  is  ready  to  lay 
hold  of  almost  any  available — and  too  often 
it  happens  the  most  incongruous  —  object. 
Victor  Hugo  understands  this  phase  of  love, 
when  he  writes  of  'dangerous  moments  to 
an  isolated  young  girl,  whose  heart  is  like 
the  tendrils  of  a  vine,  which  seize  hold,  as 
chance  determines,  of  the  capital  of  a  col- 
umn or  the  sign-post  of  a  tavern ! '  There 
is  much  that  passes  for  love  that  is  only  a 
deep  and  awful  want  of  love ;  and  it  is  this 
wild  hunger  that  is  left  to  grow  upon  one, 
that  blinds  the  soul  for  a  time  to  its  finer 
needs  of  love.  But  these  needs  of  a  fine  and 
noble  love  will  not  long  be  denied.  If  not 
realized,  another  hunger  follows,  to  the  dis- 
gust and  death  of  love.  Happy  for  such,  if 
not  bound  fast  when  love's  illusion  wrapped 
them  in  its  halo  ! " 

"  How  can  you  help  these  things  ?  "  asked 
Will :  "  folks  will  always  make  fools  of 
themselves." 

"  Why,  that's  what  I've  been  talking 
about :  teach  them  the  science  of  this  thing. 
It  won't  hurt  anybody,  and  may  do  a  little 
good." 

"  The  trouble  in  such  cases  is,"  said  the 
doctor,  resuming  the  same  argument,  "  that 
lovers  don't  wait  to  cool  down.  True,  sci- 
ence might  not  keep  them  from  the  halluci- 
nation and  its  first  and  transitory  phases  of 
passion,  but  it  would  save  them  from  mar- 
riage by  showing  them  at  first  their  consti 
tutional  unfitness  for  each  other. 


142 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


Why,  do  you  know,  so  unerringly  do  these 
laws  act,  as  noted  by  observation  and  study, 
that,  given  sufficient  data,  and  the  chances 
of  success  in  love  may  be  calculated  as 
easily  as  an  eclipse  I  Like  a  mathematical 
problem,  you  can  prove  it  both  ways.  Given 
the  known  quantity, —  love, —  and  the  or- 
ganic constituents  of  the  lovers,  and  I  will 
tell  you  the  sum  of  it  all ;  or,  given  the  re- 
sult of  a  love  or  marriage,  and  I  will  tell  you 
the  organic  relations  of  the  other  quantities." 

"Well,  your  enthusiasm  does  amount  to 
the  sublime,"  laughed  Charlie:  "you  could 
make  a  handsome  trade  out  of  your  science, 
telling  the  fortunes  of  lovers." 

"  This  is  the  idea,"  answered  the  doctor. 
"  If  science  don't  go  so  far  as  to  tell  folks 
where  to  find  successful  loves,  it  can  at  least 
tell  where  they  won't  find  them." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Will,  "  that  thoughtful 
minds  are  brooding  over  these  things  more 
than  is  generally  supposed.  There  is  much 
feeling  vaguely  afloat  that  something  is 
wrong,  either  in  marriage  as  a  system  or  in 
its  abuse." 

"Yes,"  continued  the  doctor.  "Health, 
intellect,  and  beauty  are  all  at  stake  in  this 
matter.  I  recently  heard  a  lady  severely  con- 
demn another  because  she  refused  to  live 
with  her  husband.  Said  she,  'My 'mother 
always  lived  with  my  father,  although  she 
perfectly  hated  him  ;  yet  for  the  sake  of  her 
children  she  would  not  leave  him.'  I  in- 
wardly remonstrated  against  such  a  mis- 
taken sense  of  duty,  and  wished  for  the  sake 
of  science  I  could  know  the  fruits  of  such 
a  marriage.  I  have  since  learned  that 
some  of  the  children  had  been  insane.  One 
was  almost  imbecile,  while  an  utter  lack 
of  sympathy  and  love  existed  between  them 
all.  It  is  a  curse  to  bear  children  in  hatred. 
Forced  motherhood  is  iniquitous ;  and  a  sys- 
tem is  either  wrong  in  itself,  or  has  much  in 
itself  to  reform,  which  makes  it  necessary  or 
possible  for  children  to  be  born  except  in 
love.  The  prime  motive  to  marriage  should 
be  love  and  happiness.  If  this  is  not  so,  of 
what  use  is  marriage  ?  " 

"  Marriage  is  deemed  necessary  to  insure 


responsibility  and  order  in  the  protection  of 
children,"  answered  Charlie. 

"Granted,  and  you  make  virtual  admis- 
sion that  marriage,  as  a  legal  institution, 
rests  upon  no  claims  of  its  own,  but  upon 
those  of  offspring.  If  at  this  point  all  su- 
pernatural dictum  for  marriage  is  removed, 
its  claims  then  become  reduced  to  those 
which  are  purely  natural.  It  is  to  these  nat- 
ural claims  I  would  appeal,  as  the  true  and 
only  sanction  for  marriage.  We  have  found 
that  marriage  has  no  object  nor  value,  and 
should  therefore  have  no  claims  in  itself, 
except  those  of  love.  Now,  when  love  ceases 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  marriage  odious, 
and  subvert  the  very  purpose  for  which  it 
should  exist,  it  can  have  no  further  claims 
nor  justification  in  itself  for  continuance. 
The  only  natural  claims  that  can  remain  in 
relation  to  it  are  those  which  attach  to  off- 
spring. Pursued  to  this  point,  the  question 
then  reduces  itself  to  this :  do  claims  for  the 
termination  of  an  unhappy  marriage  out- 
weigh the  claims  of  offspring  for  its  contin- 
uance ? 

May  not  parents  equally  or  better  secure 
the  welfare  of  offspring  by  some  other  means 
mutually  agreed  upon  than  the  maintenance 
of  a  discordant  marriage  ?  This  is  one  of  the 
most  trying  problems  of  our  age.  I  do  not 
attempt  to  answer.  I  only  plead  for  science 
to  help  us  find  the  truth.  Marriage  can 
occupy  no  middle  ground :  she  must  stand  as 
a  divine  institution,  and  be  treated  in  the 
light  of  supernaturalism,  or  she  is  a  natural 
institution  to  be  studied  in  the  light  of 
science.  I  believe,  if  these  issues  could  be 
met  and  fought  in  the  open  field  of  ^science, 
they  could  be  justly  settled.  Without  speak- 
ing amiss,  it  can  at  least  be  said,  as  regards 
the  legal  aspect  of  marriage,  that  it  is  but 
meet  and  proper  that  conpulsion  should  take 
care  of  its  own  results.  So  long  as  children 
are  for  the  most  part  the  fruits  of  a  compul- 
sory system,  compulsion  should  continue 
to  protect  them.  This  difficulty  can  only 
be  obviated  with  the  same  logic  and  fitness 
by  urging  that  the  functions  of  mother- 
hood shall  be  forever  guarded  by  her  love, 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


143 


and  so  made  absolutely  free.  Woman  is 
most  deeply  concerned  in  this  question, 
and  it  is  she  who  should  speak  for  herself. 
If,  therefore,  motherhood  should  be  free, 
consistent  with  this  position,  must  not  mar- 
riage be  free  ?  " 

"In  what  sense  do  you  ask  if  marriage 
should  be  free?  Is  not  every  one  free  to 
marry  whom  he  pleases,  or  not,  as  he 


I  mean  freedom  in  marriage  to  do  what 
either  or  both  deem  best  for  their  permanent 
happiness  and  welfare,  even  if  it  be  toward 
a  dissolution  of  the  bond." 

"  Would  this  not  be  a  dangerous  freedom  ?  " 

"  Marriage  should  demand  freedom  as  an 
inalienable  right,  irrespective  of  any  use  to 
which  it  may  be  applied.  In  this  sense, 
marriage  would  be  safer  in  freedom,  because 
fortified  by  the  truth/' 

"  Wherein  fortified  by  the  truth,  unless 
used  for  the  truth?  And,  if  freedom  were 
always  used  for  the  truth,  law  might  never 
have  been  applied  to  it,  and  would  not  now 
be  necessary.  Moreover,  how  can  you  know 
that  freedom  is  an  inalienable  right  ?  Is  it 
not,  rather,  a  conditional  right,  depending 
upon  whether  used  for  good  or  evil?" 

"  I  claim  the  right  of  freedom  in  marriage 
on  the  same  ground  with  man's  inalienable 
right  to  selfrprotection,  and  the  right  to  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  Free- 
dom must  be  the  means  to  this  end.  Did  it 
ever  occur  to  anybody  what  a  ridiculous  con- 
tradiction it  is  to  pronounce  this  right  upon 
man,  and  yet  deny  him  the  freedom  by  which 
it  is  possible  to  use  it,  and  which  alone  gives 
it  any  value  ? 

Individual  rights  are  the  pivot  on  which 
a  man  may  turn  himself  harmoniously  and 
equitably  with  those  around  him ;  and,  in  the 
exercise  of  these  rights,  there  is  somewhere 
an  exact  point  where  the  greatest  possible 
happiness  and  good  of  society  harmonizes 
most  perfectly  with  the  greatest  possible 
happiness  and  good  of  the  individual.  In 
the  complications  of  life,  it  is,  perhaps,  im- 
possible to  find  this  happy  contact,  and 
hence  impossible  to  evolve  a  law  from 


human  conditions,  which  shall  perfectly 
maintain  this  equipoise.  The  law  univer- 
sally chosen  as  approximating  the  nearest  to 
this  end  is  the  one  which  concedes  that  in- 
dividual rights  belong  to  every  one,  to  any 
extent  which  do  not  violate  or  trespass  upon 
the  rights  of  others.  These  rights  may  be 
abused  to  one's  self ;  but  they  still  abide  like 
the  sun  of  heaven,  which  shines  upon  the 
unrighteous  and  the  just.  Were  this  not  so, 
nature  would  impeach  and  confound  herself ; 
for  human  rights  are  those  eternal  and  im- 
partial endowments  by  which  a  man  may 
either  save  or  destroy  himself,  and  yet  his 
rights  remain  unchanged." 

"I  admit,  doctor,  that  freedom  may  be 
safe  for  love,  because,  as  you  have  said,  true 
love  is  virtuous  and  constant,  and  needs  no 
law ;  but  would  not  freedom  of  passion  be 
unsafe  ? 

Indeed,  does  not  a  strong  passion  for  the 
time  being  often  mistake  itself  for  love? 
What,  then,  but  implacable  law  is  strong 
enough  to  deal  with  this  most  mighty  but 
most  subtle  and  uncertain  of  human 
forces?" 

"When  I  speak  of  love,  I  do  not  mean 
mere  appetite  nor  desire,  but  the  total  ex- 
pression of  a  man's  nature,  wherein  his  rea- 
son and  conscience  are  exerted  as  well  as 
passion  and  affection.  Love  is  all  that  a 
man  is,  which  he  would  devote  in  sacrifice 
and  in  truth  to  another.  Passion  is  only  a 
part  of  this  whole:  therefore,  the  whole 
should  rule  the  part,  and  not  a  part  the 
whole." 

"Very  true;  but  suppose  what  you  call 
love,  or  the  total  expression  of  a  man's  nat- 
ure in  passional  affection,  is  not  employed, 
but  mere  passion,  and  so  does  violence  to 
reason.  Would  you  justify  freedom  here 
as  conducive  to  the  highest  morality  ?  Yet, 
if  you  admit  freedom  in  love,  would  it  not 
be  arrogance  to  abridge  or  deny  it  to  pas- 
sion?" 

"  Unqualifiedly,  that  conduct  is  the  high- 
est which  subjects  itself  to  reason,  and  this 
would  be  my  law ;  but  I  would  have  it  of 
myself,  and  not  of  another.  I  have  no  right 


144 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


to  make  even  this  law  of  my  manhood  the 
law  of  another.  The  distinction  I  would 
make  is  this  :  that,  nntil  a  man  infringes 
upon  the  rights  of  others,  he  should  be  held 
subject  to  his  own  reason  and  authority,  and 
not  the  reason  or  authority  of  others.  I 
am  willing  a  man  should  be  controlled  by 
his  own  conscience,  but  not  by  the  con- 
science of  another." 

"  After  all,  do  you  not  forget,  doctor,  that 
you  have  just  been  talking  about  natural 
laws,  which  show  that  nature  herself  is 
bound  ?  Can  there  be  absolute  freedom  ?  " 

"  This  is  true,  but  we  must  not  mistake 
limitations  which  are  fixed  and  bounded  by 
the  natural  for  limitations  which  are  them- 
selves unnatural.  There  is  a  difEerence  be- 
tween a  law  which  works  from  within 
toward  the  legitimate  fulfilment  of  its  ends, 
and  a  law  which  proceeds  from  without  to 
interfere  with  and  prevent  those  ends.  Yes, 
there  is  that  in  freedom  which  preserves  and 
expands.  Freedom  can  educate  more  than 
repression ;  for  law  makes  us  responsible  to 
law,  while  freedom  makes  us  responsible  to 
ourselves,  and  instead  of  coldness  or  opposi- 
tion is  inspired  sympathy.  The  finest 
processes  of  life,  its  noblest  results,  flow 
from  and  toward  freedom.  The  noblest 
nations  and  peoples  are  freest.  See  what 
woman  is  to-day, —  the  proud  companion  and 
helper  of  man :  she  grows  more  strong  and 
royal  in  the  freedom  she  builds  herself 
upon.  And,  only  a  century  ago,  what  a 
slave  was  woman, —  her  education  held  in 
abhorrence,  aud  even  to  know  how  to  read 
denied  her  as  a  dangerous  license  1  " 

"  Would  you,  then,  dispense  with  human 
legislation  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  necessity  for  any ;  that  is,  I  be- 
lieve it  should  be  the  function  of  govern- 
ment to  rigidly  enact  whatever  financial  or 
business  compacts  parties  have  entered  into. 
With  what  else  should  law  concern  itself? 
It  should  certainly  not  attempt  to  legislate 
in  matters  of  love,  for  love  will  brook  no 
laws  but  its  own.  Love  enforces  itself,  is 
its  own  law,  and  needs  no  other  so  long  as  it 
endures.  When  it  ceases,  what  is  any  other 


law  to  it  but  a  tyranny  and  an  imperti- 
nence? The  province  of  law  should  be 
that  of  arbiter  in  respect  to  values,  estates 
and  property  claims;  but,  beyond  this,  it 
should  not  go.  It  cannot  arbitrate  in 
human  affections,  for  there  can  be  no  honest 
traffic  in  love.  Feeling  appeals  only  to  feel- 
ing, and  will  not  recognize  nor  respect  law 
outside  of  its  proper  domain.  True  mar- 
riage is  as  sacred  as  religion,  and  needs  no 
enforcement  above  itself.  If  adapted  to 
human  wants,  it  will  surely  survive." 

"  Are  you  not  guilty  of  a  little  prejudice, 
Doctor  ?  You  despise  law  in  the  regulation 
of  social  relations,  yet  would  apply  science 
to  this  effect.  If  love  is  its  own  law,  does 
it  need  science  any  more  than  law  ?  So  far 
as  love  is  concerned,  is  not  science  as  cold 
and  bloodless  as  law  ?  " 

"Not  at  all.  Law  presumes  to  control 
love,  at  least  its  expression,  and  would 
make  it  amenable  to  law.  Science  explains 
and  instructs,  and  so  educates  feeling.  Law 
would  rule  love,  while  science  would  teach 
love  how  to  know  and  rule  herself.  I  am 
surprised  when  I  see  how  men  and  women 
suffer  human  law  to  do  so  much  where  it 
should  do  nothing.  If  love  is  worth  any- 
thing, if  it  is  not  a  misnomer,  it  must  be 
free ;  for  love  cannot  be  love,  unless  it  is 
free.  Then  why  should  state  or  society  in- 
terpose their  authority,  when  the  love  which 
alone  makes  a  marriage  sacred  or  tolerable 
has  departed  ? 

If  two  human  beings  most  deeply  inter- 
ested and  most  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
their  own  affairs  cannot  be  supposed  to 
know  or  decide  what  is  best  for  themselves, 
how  can  any  other  body  or  organization  de- 
cide for  them?  Some  marriages  are  so  dis- 
cordant that  they  are  simply  degrading. 
The  highest  and  finest  feelings  are  daily 
insulted,  and  perhaps  truth  itself  is  sacri- 
ficed. This  must  not  be. 

I  only  ask  that  marriage  remain,  as 
everything  else  should  be,  an  open  ques- 
tion,—  open  to  more  light  and  truth.  No 
arbitrary  fiat  should  be  placed  upon  it ;  but, 
with  love  and  science,  it  may  be  committed 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


145 


to  the  ever  living  manhood  and  womanhood 
of  our  race." 

"  On  these  grounds,  then,  you,  of  course, 
justify  the  conduct  of  George  Eliot." 

"I  justify  it  thoroughly.  She  did  that 
which  was  right  and  proper  and  really  con- 
ducive to  human  welfare.  She  did  not  re- 
volt against  marriage,  but  only  against  an 
unjust  and  cruel  interference  with  marriage. 
It  was  a  noble  act,  a  courageous  act,  an  he- 
roic act ;  and  it  was  a  wise  act, —  the  full,  free 
choice  of  a  far-seeing  genius.  It  was  not 
passion:  it  was  wisdom  that  dictated  her 
course.  It  was  for  marriage  that  she  acted, 
not  against  it, — fora  true  and  noble  and 
exalted  union  between  a  man  and  woman. 
She  struck  against  a  tyrannical  institution 
based  upon  superstition  and  bigotry  with  the 
calm  persistence  of  her  strong  intellect.  It 
was  not  a  mistake.  It  was  a  battle  that  she 
won  for  human  rights  ;  and,  with  my  deep- 
est soul,  I  reverence  her  womanly,  her  splen- 
did act.  She  has  helped  to  lift  marriage  to 
its  true  beauty.  The  greatest  ethical  teacher 
of  her  day,  in  her  union  with  George  Lewes 
she  displayed  her  noblest  morality  akin  with 
the  severest  lessons  of  her  books.  Now, 
boys,  I  must  go  back.  I  did  not  expect  to 
say  so  much.  You  know  science  is  my  de- 
light, and  this  is  a  deep  one.  I  have  dis- 
cussed the  subject  chiefly  from  a  scientific 
stand-point,  because  this  side  of  it  has,  thus 
far  in  the  world's  history,  been  supremely 
ignored ;  but  marriage  will  never  be  under- 
stood nor  used  to  its  highest  advantage  until 
science  has  unfolded  what  belongs  to  it. 
Holding  marriage  as  a  sacrament,  there  has, 
of  course,  been  no  place  for  science.  It 
would  be  a  heresy  whose  teachings  would  be 
blasphemous.  Consequently,  there  has  been 
no  way  of  looking  at  unfortunate  marriages, 
except  in  the  inevitable  light  of  self-sacri- 
fice, abnegation,  and  discipline.  There  is 
another  aspect  of  the  case,  more  sound  and 
hopeful  because  more  true.  At  the  same 
time,  boys,  don't  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  time  and  place  for  the  altruistic 
conceptions  of  duty  in  marriage,  as  have 
heretofore  obtained.  Science  cannot  harm 


these  convictions.  It  will  work  in  harmony 
with  and  always  to  the  furtherance  of  duty. 
Conscience  may  be  helped  by  health,  so  will 
science  supply  truth  which  is  needful  to 
goodness  and  power.  I  only  insist  that  each 
one  be  free  to  adopt  his  own  methods  as 
best  fitted  to  his  individual  needs  and  cir- 
cumstances. This  will  be  the  best  in  the 
end,  for  it  will  teach  men  and  women  how 
to  protect  and  elevate  themselves  through 
noble  and  worthy  loves;  and,  as  character 
and  virtue  are  above  law.  so  will  this  be  an 
achievement  worthy  of  the  means.  Good- 
night." 

"The  doctor  is  a  host  in  himself,"  said 
Will, —  "  so  learned,  yet  artless  and  modest 
as  a  child.  I  am  glad  he  happened  to  talk 
on  this  subject  to-night.  I  have  heard  him 
on  every  other  topic,  and  have  often  wished 
he  would  get  started  on  this  one;  for  I 
knew,  with  his  vast  experience  of  life,  his 
erudition  and  close  observation,  he  would 
speak  to  some  sense  and  purpose.  He  is 
wise,  charitable,  honest,  and  true,  and  I  be- 
lieve in  what  he  says ;  but,  between  Lorena 
and  me,  the  principle  of  sacrifice  that  he 
last  spoke  of  is  the  one  for  us  to  accept." 

"  Have  you  ever  asked  yourself  the  ques- 
tion if  you  had  not  a  right  to  sacrifice  the 
happiness  of  her  husband,  if,  by  so  doing,  a 
greater  happiness  for  Lorena  and  yourself 
could  be  procured  ?  " 

This  is  not  a  question  of  the  mere  bal- 
ance of  right,  but  of  simple  human  nature, 
which  is  so  constituted  that  it  does  seek 
another's  happiness.  This  is  a  part  of  its 
life.  Men  are  naturally  generous  as  well  as 
selfish,  and  but  very  little  happiness  is  ob- 
tained knowingly  at  the  expense  of  another's. 
In  the  principle  of  self-sacrifice  lies  the 
source  of  our  deepest  pleasure. 

We  must  be  happy,  according  to  the  law 
of  our  being.  Happiness  is  a  guide;  but, 
practically,  it  cannot  be  the  end.  The  end 
is  what  we  call  virtue.  This  is  what  we 
might  say  is  the  choice  and  approved  felicity 
of  man.  What  makes  this  is  not  uncon- 
nected actions,  but  actions  in  obedience  to  a 
principle, —  a  principle  not  derived  from  God, 


146 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


but  from  man.  Man,  as  a  universal  being, 
man,  as  I  understand  him,  is  made  for  self- 
sacrifice.  As  the  river  is  made  to  run  to  the 
sea,  or  the  root  to  flower,  this  is  his  original 
tendency,  as  necessary  to  his  happiness,  in  a 
large  degree,  as  breathing. 

"What  is  happiness?  It  is  the  perfect 
exercise  of  every  faculty.  To  abnegate,  to 
deny,  to  surrender  for  another,  is  a  positive 
faculty  of  man;  and  to  do  these  things  is 
a  source  of  supreme  pleasure.  Do  we  not 
often  sacrifice  a  personal  convenience  for 
the  sake  of  the  lower  animals,  a  horse,  a  dog, 
or  a  worm  even?  There  is  a  necessity  in 
this.  Do  you  ask  me  why  ?  I  cannot  tell. 
I  simply  know  that  such  is  human  nature. 
It  is  selfish,  I  grant :  it  is  also  unselfish.  In 
this  case,  Lorena  and  I  cannot  choose  our 
own  happiness :  we  should  not  be  happy  in 
so  doing,  in  the  largest  sense.  We  chose 
not  to  be  happy,  because,  in  so  choosing,  we 
find  the  greatest  joy.  Why  could  we  not  ? 
Because,  in  the  terrible  pain  of  it  all,  there 
is  an  unspeakable  pleasure:  that  which  is 
highest  in  us  is  thus,  and  thus  only,  satisfied. 
Lorena  is  her  own  judge;  she  recognizes 
the  sacredness  of  her  plighted  faith ;  that  is 
all  in  all  to  her.  Her  love  is  too  pure  to 
suffer  the  slightest  stain.  Her  wish  to  me 
is  law.  We  do  not  decide  for  others,  and 
we  do  not  blame  those  who  seek  to  break  an 
unendurable  bond.  We  choose  rather  to 
suffer  than  that  another  should  suffer.  We 
recognize,  also,  that  we  belong  to  humanity, 
and  must  act  for  its  highest  welfare,  and  not 
for  our  own.  I  could  not  be  happy  in  Lo- 
rena's  love,  if  the  life  of  Raymond  were 
thereby  crushed.  If  he  were  ignoble,  if  he 
were  so  unfitted  to  her  as  to  make  life  a  per- 
petual burden,  then  she  would  have  a  right 
to  be  free ;  but  he  is  a  dear  and  honorable 
man,  and  loves  her  dearly,  to  whom  she  has 
given  a  most  sacred  promise.  The  choice 
we  make  is  inevitable  from  what  we  are, 
and  that  ends  it. 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  see  her  again.  Am  I 
miserable,  therefore,  because  I  thus  surren- 
der a  great  and  beautiful  joy?  Is  life 
empty?  No:  for,  after  all,  the  greatest  joy 


of  living  is  loving;  and  I  can  love,  I  can 
love.  Oh,  the  wonder  of  it  all!  Daily  to 
have  her  image  in  my  heart,  daily  to  think 
how  noble,  how  pure,  how  sweet  she  is  1  I 
am  in  agony,  indeed,  but  miserable  I  am 
not ;  for  life  is  made  great  by  this  love.  It 
is  elevated,  enlarged.  To  possess  her  and  a 
thousand  like  her  in  my  arms  would  not 
equal  this  infinite  joy  of  loving.  Even 
though  I  cannot  touch  her  hand  or  lip,  be- 
cause I  have  seen  and  loved  her,  hereafter 
all  my  life  is  beatified.  Though  I  carry  an 
endless  pain,  yet  in  that  pain  is  an  endless 
greatness." 

"  How  differently  we  are  situated !  I  am 
happy  in  my  love.  It  seems  as  if  I  could 
not  lose  it ;  for  it  is  a  part  of  my  being,  and 
beyond  this  sweet  possession  the  universe  is 
a  blank.  I  only  pity  him  who  has  never  had 
a  throb  of  love,  whose  life  is  entirely  selfish. 
What  does  he  know  of  the  joy  of  living? 
He  is  entombed  in  a  grave  more  dark  than 
earth.  The  moment  one  begins  to  love,  if 
only  a  dog,  he  begins  to  live.  To  love  some- 
thing different  from  one's  self, —  a  flower,  a 
star,  a  human  soul, —  what  power  is  in  it, 
what  a  stir  of  all  the  faculties !  Love  is 
the  magician's  wand  that  shows  the  secret 
riches  of  the  most  barren  spot.  It  is  Alad- 
din's lamp  that  compels  the  finest  ministries. 
How  weak  one  is  when  he  is  selfish,  how 
strong  when  he  is  loving !  Love  is  indeed 
creative.  It  is  continually  producing,  en- 
larging, sweeping  into  new  forms  and 
beauty  and  power.  It  assimilates  all,  and 
it  achieves  all." 

The  two  friends  separated, —  the  one  to 
love  possessed,  the  other  to  love  unpossessed. 
Yet  each  life  was  crowned;  for  love  is  a 
crowning,  whether  it  sits  by  our  side  and 
weaves  a  royal  robe,  or  whether  we  simply 
behold  its  marvellous  beauty  on  the  inac- 
cessible heights. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IT  was  a  brilliant  and  fashionable  audi- 
ence listening  to  one  of  the  world's  re- 
nowned singers.  All  were  intent,  as  the 
birdlike  notes  filled  the  air.  Marvellously 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


14? 


sweet  they  were,  like  diamond  sparkles  in 
the  lofty  heights  of  song, —  an  exuberant 
fountain  of  melody,  that  rose  higher  and 
higher,  and  then  burst  in  exquisite  strains 
like  flakes  of  fire.  Wondrous  music,  voice 
of  passion,  of  tragedy,  and  of  hope, —  how 
the  heart  flows  upon  its  mellow  tide,  and 
what  revealing  pictures  it  creates ! 

The  people  were  entranced ;  and  loud  plau- 
dits filled  the  auditorium,  and  the  gleaming 
flowers  were  borne  to  the  stage.  Again  and 
again  was  the  singer  recalled.  It  was  an 
hour  of  glorious  triumph. 

Once  more,  the  song  flowed  rich  and  full, 
as  if  there  were  a  heaven  seeming  to  come 
fresh  from  its  sparkling  bosom. 

"  What  can  lift  the  human  heart  so  high 
as  this  ? "  said  Charlie.  "  To  me,  it  is  the 
very  glory  of  human  existence." 

"  Yet  all  this  wonder  of  music  comes  from 
the  pain  and  agony  of  life.  Without  trag- 
edv,  the  deepest  things  cannot  be  touched. 
She  is  singing  the  wild  love-song  of  Lucia, 
where  the  breaking  heart  breathes  its  awful 
woe.  How  terrible,  yet  how  beautiful! 
Listen ! " 

The  tones  of  the  singer  seemed  freighted 
with  the  infinite  suffering  of  the  distracted 
lover.  It  breathed  despair  and  unutterable 
horror ;  yet  how  perfect,  how  superb  the  har- 
mony !  True  it  is  that  sorrow  is  the  mother 
of  our  greatest  conselation ;  for  only  sorrow 
overwhelming  like  an  ocean  could  create 
such  magnificence  of  sound,  sweeping  and 
clashing,  and  then  blending  and  bursting 
with  expressive  beauty.  The  voice  of  the 
singer  vibrated  with  all  the  intensity  of  the 
situation,  and  from  the  depths  of  despair 
poured  forth  the  most  ecstatic  concord. 

"  It  is  as  if  a  flame  were  passing  over  me," 
said  Blanche. 

Softly  the  last  notes  trembled  on  the  air. 
The  audience  were  as  still  as  death,  as  if 
eager  to  hold  the  vanishing  delight. 

There  came  a  sudden  and  terrible  cry, 
"Fire!"  and  from  the  stage  swept  a  col- 
umn of  smoke.  Quick  as  lightning,  Charlie 
had  seized  Blanche,  and  was  already  half- 
way to  the  door. 


Will  was  so  intent  upon  the  play  and 
rapt  by  the  passionate  music  that  voiced 
the  deep  pain  of  his  own  heart  that  he 
scarcely  noticed  the  tumult.  Afterward,  he 
saw  the  bursting  flame.  The  surging  crowd 
was  before  him,  pushing  and  heaving  in 
blind  terror. 

He  said :  "  I  might  as  well  wait.  Perhaps 
I  may  be  of  service." 

That  really  seemed  the  only  wise  course. 
The  crowd  was  simply  furious.  There  was 
an  end  of  restraint.  It  was  mad  endeavor 
in  every  direction,  like  the  wild  plunge  of 
animals  or  waves  in  a  hurricane.  People 
were  literally  tossed  upon  one  another,  and 
dashed  forward  and  back  in  the  frightful 
struggle.  The  flames  leaped  forth  more 
fiercely.  They  caught  the  curtains,  and 
were  soon  beyond  control.  It  was  evident 
that  the  building  would  be  destroyed,  and 
the  only  chance  of  life  was  in  the  open  air. 
They  who  remained  must  assuredly  perish. 

Will  saw  that  he  was  hemmed  in  ;  and  that 
he  must  take  his  chances  to  escape  when  the 
first  fury  was  over.  He  was  perfectly  cool, 
and  calmly  awaited  the  opportunity  of  es- 
cape. There  were  a  few  who  followed  his 
example. 

He  did  not  think  simply  of  himself.  He 
cast  his  eyes  around  in  search  of  those  who 
might  need  the  help  of  his  strong  arm. 

In  the  midst  of  the  surging  crowd,  he  saw 
a  woman  bending  over  some  one,  who  had 
apparently  fainted.  He  soon  forced  himself 
to  her  side.  When  she  turned,  he  cried, — 

"  Lorena ! " 

And  she  said  tremulously, — 

«  Will— Mr.  Burnham  I " 

"  You  must  escape.  Let  me  bear  you  to 
a  place  of  safety.  Now  is  the  time." 

"  It  cannot  be !  "  she  said.  "  I  must  save 
him." 

She  pointed  to  the  body  that  lay  at  her 
feet.  It  was  Raymond. 

"  Alas !  we  cannot  save  him,"  said  Will. 
"  It  is  all  that  we  can  do  to  save  ourselves^ 
and  with  our  best  efforts  we  may  perish." 

"I  cannot  leave  him.  It  would  be  too 
cruel.  Besides,  what  can  I  do  ?  I  might  as 


148 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


well  remain.  If  I  attempt  to  escape,  I  shall 
fail." 

"  Not  if  you  trust  yourself  to  me.  1  can 
carry  you  forth.  I  can  fight  my  way. 
Come!" 

"I  cannot.  If  you  have  power  to  save 
another  besides  yourself,  you  must  save  him, 
Raymond,  my  husband." 

"This  is  too  cruel.  Save  him,  and  let 
you  perish  ?  I  cannot  do  it.  If  I  am  forced 
to  choose,  I  must  choose  you.  I  would  save 
both,  if  I  could ;  but  I  cannot.  In  dire  ex- 
tremity, my  heart  cries  out  for  you." 

"  I  know  you  cannot  save  us  both.  Then 
take  him  in  your  arms,  and  leave  me." 

"I  revolt  against  this.  It  is  my  duty 
to  save  the  one  I  love." 

"It  is  your  duty  to  obey  the  one  you 
love." 

"  Not  in  such  a  case.  I  will  obey  my  own 
conscience." 

"  It  cannot  be.  I  plead  with  you.  I  can- 
not leave  him.  If  you  will  not  take  him, 
leave  us  both." 

"  The  flames  are  almost  on  us.  There  is 
no  time  to  dispute.  I  shall  seize  you,  in  spite 
of  your  resistance." 

"  No,"  she  cried.  "  Attempt  to  seize  me, 
and  I  will  plunge  into  the  flames !  Can  you 
not  respect  my  feelings  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  not  feel  for  me  as  well 
as  for  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  husband.  I  should  not  leave 
him." 

"  But  you  command  me  to  leave  you." 

"  Because  I  must.  Go,  if  you  will ;  but  I 
still  believe  that  you  are  too  noble  to  leave  a 
fellow-creature  to  perish." 

"I  will  help  him,  but  first  let  me  help 
you.  I  will  plunge  back  into  the  building, 
and  save  him  at  all  hazards." 

"  You  must  save  him  first.  Then,  if  you 
can  save  me,  come." 

"  Oh,  this  is  horrible !  "  cried  Will.  "  Why 
do  you  insist  ?  Why  do  you  compel  me  to 
see  you  perish  in  the  flames, —  the  woman 
that  I  love,  my  very  life,  my  soul  V  " 

"  Is  it  not  better  that  I  should  perish  in 
the  flames  than  do  the  least  thing  that  might 


stain  my  soul  ?  Because  we  love  each  other, 
let  us  be  most  noble,  that  we  may  be  worthy 
of  this  heavenly  gift.  Because  we  love,  let 
us  sacrifice.  Our  love  is  so  pure  I  would 
not  have  the  least  selfishness  in  it ;  and  it 
would  be  selfish,  would  it  not,  to  save  our- 
selves ?  " 

"  If  I  could  only  save  you,  I  would  not 
care.  I  would  willingly  perish  myself." 

"  That  is  not  enough  :  your  love  must  be 
willing  to  sacrifice  even  me." 

"Why,  what  commands  it?" 

"  Honor.  Oh,  what  is  love  without  honor  ? 
Honor  we  must  obey  in  all  things.  Honor 
demands  that  we  save  him,  not  ourselves. 
If  I  perish,  I  gladly  perish.  Save  him,  I  beg 
of  you,  save  him." 

The  flames  hissed  about  them.  The  burn- 
ing tongues  almost  touched  them.  The 
smoke  began  to  roll  in  thick  and  heavy 
clouds  above  their  heads. 

"  Lorena,  I  obey,"  said  Will.  "  It  is 
almost  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  heart; 
but  I  will  save  him.  Then,  I  will  return ; 
and,  if  I  cannot  save  you,  I  will  be  buried 
with  you  in  these  ruins." 

"  Save  him,  and  I  will  bless  you,"  she  said. 

Will  seized  Raymond  in  his  strong  arms, 
and  skilfully  and  swiftly  pushed  his  way 
ahead.  He  was  obliged  at  times  to  lie  down, 
in  order  to  escape  the  dense  clouds  of 
smoke;  while  all  about  he  could  hear  the 
thundrous  crackling  of  the  flames,  and  the 
timbers  began  to  fall.  Suddenly,  as  he 
reached  the  door,  there  was  a  tremendous 
crash,  and  a  great  blazing  pile  fell.  He 
turned  and  saw  Lorena  in  the  midst,  sur- 
rounded with  flame  and  waving  him  on. 
Then,  he  saw  her  fall,  apparently  struck  by 
a  descending  beam.  His  heart  sank  within 
him.  But  he  said:  "I  will  be  faithful  to 
her.  Then,  I  will  die  with  her." 

Heroically,  he  pushed  his  way  out  of  ths 
building,  and  placed  Raymond  in  a  se- 
cure place,  and  then  rushed  back.  It  was 
too  late.  The  flames  rolled  over  the  pas- 
sage. He  was  fronted  by  a  mass  of  fire, 
and  on  all  sides  was  heard  the  cry,  "The 
roof  is  falling." 


GOLDEN  THKONE. 


149 


Will  was  on  the  point  of  darting  into  the 
glaring  jaws  of  death,  when  a  gigantic  fig- 
ure leaped  before  him. 

It  was  Big  Dick.  He  bore  in  his  arms 
the  fainting  form  of  Lorena.  At  the  last 
moment,  he  had  rescued  her. 

"  This  way,  Dick,"  cried  Will. 

They  carried  her  to  the  side  of  Raymond. 
They  flung  water  in  her  face.  She  revived. 
She  opened  her  eyes. 

"You  are  saved,"  said  Will.  "Here  is 
your  husband.  He,  too,  is  reviving." 

She  touched  his  hand  tenderly.  Then,  she 
bent  over  the  face  of  her  husband  and  kissed 
his  brow,  and  her  long  hair  fell  over  his 
pallid  face,  and  she  murmured,  "I  thank 
you,  I  thank  you." 

She  raised  her  head  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  at  Will  with  inexpressible  tender- 
ness, and  then  said,  "  Farewell." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"  HULLO,  Will,"  said  Charlie.  "  This  is  a 
surprise.  I  thought  you  were  at  the  Antip- 
odes." 

"  1  have  been  there,  and  have  just  arrived 
on  the  lightning  train.  What  a  splendid 
place  Golden  Throne  has  got  to  be !  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  it  ?  It  has  many  advan- 
tages. It  is  a  beautiful  country  round 
about,  and  the  springs  here  are  delicious. 
The  gold  is  not  yet  exhausted.  No  wonder 
it's  run  up  to  fifty  thousand." 

"I  can  hardly  recognize  it.  When  we 
left,  you  know,  it  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
village,  straggling  about  with  a  generally 
dilapidated  appearance.  Now,  it  has  ele- 
gant dwellings,  avenues,  and  parks,  and,  on 
the  whole,  is  a  model  city.  It  has  grown 
by  magic  almost,  and  seems  like  a  picture 
out  of  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainment." 

"  Come  home  with  me.  Our  house  is  on 
the  hill.  I'm  putting  up  some  new  facto- 
ries. Blanche  and  I  think  that  is  the  best 
way  to  use  our  money.  We  don't  want  to 
loaf.  We  did  travel  for  a  year,  though,  in 
Europe." 

"  I  have  been  everywhere  for  the  last  two 


years,  since  the  fire  and  the  rescue  of  Lorena 
and  her  husband.  I  have  not  heard  from 
them  since.  I  set  sail  the  next  day.  Went 
direct  to  China.  I've  been  truth-seeking, 
and  trying  to  bring  myself  into  some  kind 
of  conformity  with  fate,  which,  you  know, 
hasn't  used  me  very  well.  That  adventure 
at  San  Francisco  was  a  terrible  experience. 
It  set  my  whole  being  tossing  like  a  mighty 
sea ;  and,  for  months,  I  could  do  nothing 
but  hurry  from  place  to  place." 

"  You  look  as  strong  as  a  giant  now.  I'm 
afraid  I  couldn't  have  been  quite  as  heroic." 

"  I've  won  the  day.  I've  reconciled  my- 
self to  the  inevitable,  though  many  a  time 
I  felt  like  plunging  into  the  sea  and  ending 
this  turmoil  of  existence  forever.  That 
would  have  been  cowardly.  Whatever  life 
is,  so  long  as  it  exists,  there  is  duty  and 
there  is  hope.  I  am  comparatively  happy 
now.  I  am  ready  for  work,  and  something 
I  am  going  to  do." 

"There's  enough  to  do,"  said  Charlie. 
"  Men  like  you  are  what  the  age  demands, — 
strong,  self-reliant  men,  who,  having  con- 
quered themselves,  can  conquer  the  world. 
What  are  needed  to-day  are  leaders,  those 
who  can  sympathize  with  every  particle  of 
humanity  ;  who  know  by  experience  the  pro- 
found wants  of  every  soul ;  who,  having 
passion,  are  trustworthy,  because  they  have 
ruled  themselves  in  the  midst  of  tempta- 
tion. We  have  had  enough  thought.  The 
wings  of  speculation  are  tired.  They  have 
beat  the  dead  air  of  the  eternities,  and  what 
is  the  result?  Nothing.  We  want  action 
now, —  the  man  who  can  sow  and  reap,  who 
can  bring  forth  what  is  in  the  earth,  and 
who  can  make  work  fruitful  and  honorable. 
The  problem  of  to-day  is,  How  shall  labor 
be  dignified  and  duly  rewarded?  Capital 
we  must  have.  In  no  other  way  can  we 
utilize  the  inheritance  of  the  past,  and  con- 
centrate the  forces  that  we  now*have.  There 
must  be  unity.  But  how  shall  we  unite  and 
keep  all  free,  so  that  what  all  earn  is  justly 
distributed?  Is  it  right  that  one  man  shall 
earn  eighty-three  dollars  per  day,  and  an- 
other but  eighty-three  cents  ?  This  is  nion- 


150 


GOLDEN   THBONE. 


strous ;  and  no  wonder  that  labor  cries  out 
against  it,  and  is  full  of  the  revolutionary 
spirit.  You  and  I,  Will,  must  meet  these 
issues,  and  do  our  best  to  settle  them  fairly 
and  squarely.  I  am  trying  something  of 
the  sort  in  my  establishment  here.  I  am 
aiming  for  co-operation :  so  that  the  worker 
shall  have  a  share  in  the  profits,  and  every 
man  be  paid  for  what  he  does.  All  through 
the  ages,  labor  has  been  oppressed.  The 
cunning  head  has  defeated  the  cunning 
hand,  and  worn  the  laurel  altogether.  This 
conflict  must  cease.  Head  and  hand  must 
strive  together  for  mutual  justice,  or  our 
civilization  will  go  to  pieces  on  the  rocks 
even  of  its  greatest  triumphs.  We  boast 
of  our  industry  and  its  magnificent  achiev- 
ments ;  and  yet,  in  many  respects,  it  is  a 
Moloch,  and  not  only  men,  but  even  women 
and  children,  are  sacrificed  on  its  iron  altar. 
It  is  melancholy  to  see  little  boys  and  girls 
toiling  day  after  day  in  a  petty  round  of  me- 
chanic service,  and  having  no  opportunity 
for  mental  cultivation.  I  tremble  when  I 
consider  what  may  be  the  condition  of  the 
masses  in  the  future,  when  all  that  the 
many  have  to  do  from  morning  till  night 
will  be  to  feed  some  huge  machinery,  which, 
with  its  polished  arms  and  wheels,  seems  to 
be  more  intelligent  than  they.  Look  at  one 
of  our  locomotives.  How  gorgeous  it  is, 
glistening  like  an  ancient  warrior, — not  a  par- 
ticle of  rust  upon  it,  as  elegant  as  a  lady  just 
from  her  toilet !  See  how  it  moves, —  what 
action,  what  power,  what  beauty!  And 
compare  that  machine,  so  exquisitely  cared 
i'or,  with  millions  of  men  and  women ;  and 
is  it  not  a  god  compared  with  them,  a 
very  Jove,  seeming  to  consume  not  their 
substance  only,  but  their  manhood,  being 
enthroned  on  their  misery !  There  is  to  be 
a  struggle,  Will,  amid  these  potent  forces  of 
civilization;  and  we  must  take  hold  even 
more  vigorously  than  the  captains  of  the 
past.  There  must  be  captains  of  industry  ; 
but  they  must  be  full  of  sympathy,  and  they 
must  care  for  the  lowest  and  humblest,  and 
make  the  great  forces  that  we  are  now 
creating  subservient  not  to  the  few,  but  the 
many." 


"I  have  not  thought  so  much  of  these 
things:  I  have  taken  pride  in  our  civiliza- 
tion in  a  blind  sort  of  way.  I  have  not 
seen  the  dangers  which  you  have  pointed 
out.  I  have  seen  the  oppression  of  man  in- 
deed. It  has  seemed  hopeless,  as  if  the 
fortunate  few  would  forever  reign.  I  have 
fancied  our  own  country  was  the  happy 
land.  But  every  invention  is  a  source  of 
tyranny,  and  the  period  may  arrive  when 
mere  machineries  shall  dominate  men,  even 
more  forcefully  and  cruelly  than  the  sword. 
Along  with  all  this  progress,  there  must  be 
more  humanity;  and  we  must  labor  for 
justice.  True  it  is  that  eternal  vigilance 
is  the  price  of  liberty.  When  kings  and 
priests  have  passed  away,  we  have  a  subtler 
foe  in  organized  capital  and  prodigious  in- 
ventions. I'm  ready  to  do  what  little  I  can. 
But  I  must  run  up  into  the  mountains  now, 
and  look  at  the  old  scenes.  I  am  hungry 
for  them.  Tell  Blanche  I  will  be  with  you 
at  dinner  time.  She  would  rather  have 
some  warning  of  my  approach.  All  women 
do.  They  don't  like  to  be  taken  unawares, 
even  by  their  best  friend.  There  is  always 
some  little  fixing  up  to  do." 

Will  hastened  to  the  familiar  spots  which, 
amid  the  great  changes  of  the  past  few 
years,  seemed  bosomed  in  the  eternities. 
For  two  years,  he  had  been  drifting  about 
the  world,  seeking  for  resignation  and 
calm.  It  required  all  the  strength  of  his 
nature  to  meet  the  conflict  and  be  victori- 
ous. The  awful  circumstances  under  which 
he  met  and  parted  from  Lorena  had  stirred 
the  very  depths  of  his  being.  His  heart  was 
like  a  volcanic  flame.  He  was  in  a  whirl- 
wind of  passion.  His  love  for  Lorena  was 
the  religion  of  his  soul.  It  was  not  a  mere 
fancy ;  for  she  was  to  him,  in  her  womanly 
glory,  his  heart's  ideal  of  joy  and  nobleness. 
She  was  his  higher  self,  the  radiance  of 
what  to  him  was  best  and  most  enduring. 
Hence,  it  was  like  tearing  his  soul  apart  to 
surrender  her  at  the  dictate  of  duty.  There 
was  no  hesitation  as  to  what  he  should  do, 
but  there  was  a  terrific  revulsion  at  the 
results.  He  was  not,  however,  a  man  to 
tamely  yield.  He  was  so  healthful  in  his 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


151 


nature  that  life  was  worth  living,  no  matter 
how  bitter  the  disappointments  it  contained. 
If  he  surrendered  his  love  to  his  sense  of 
duty,  it  was  because  he  saw  in  duty  a  sub- 
limer  glory  still,  a  more  effulgent  life, 
though  for  the  time  it  might  be  darkened 
by  his  human  weakness. 

Therefore,  he  went  resolutely  f oward.  He 
saw  that  life  in  itself  was  endlessly  rich, 
that  there  was  still  a  work  to  do,  and  so 
a  great  joy. 

He  stood  amid  the  noble  and  mighty 
forms  of  the  mountains.  He  looked  upon 
the  "Ruined  Castle,"  he  traversed  "Con- 
science Pass,"  and  brooded  in  the  wondrous 
"  Throne  Room,"  over  which  the  afternoon 
sun  was  throwing  its  masses  of  splendor. 
The  towering  rocks  seemed  to  welcome  him 
like  brothers.  The  trees,  bending  and  flash- 
ing in  the  glorious  light,  dropped  jewels  of 
music  upon  his  path.  The  cataracts  wero 
like  a  silvery  writing  on  the  mountain  wall 
of  nature's  poetry.  Flowers  wonderful  and 
gorgeous,  with  a  million  mingling  colors, 
danced  along  his  way,  and  could  be  seen 
like  an  army  with  banners  far  up  among 
the  clefts  of  the  hills.  He  felt  within  him- 
self a  spirit  of  triumph,  that  he  was  in  a 
sense  worthy  of  these  sublime  accompani- 
ments, and  could  receive  their  profusion  of 
wealth,  because  in  the  great  world  of  men- 
tal and  spiritual  life  he  had  not  been  found 
wanting.  This  was,  however,  scarcely  a  con- 
scious feeling  in  his  breast ;  for  he  was  not 
one  of  those  who  ever  claimed  any  credit  for 
doing  his  duty.  He  would  say,  I  did  it  be- 
cause the  doing  would  give  me  the  greatest 
pleasure. 

He  finally  wandered  to  his  old  homestead. 
It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  beauteous  solitude, 
for  Golden  Throne  had  not  yet  advanced  in 
this  direction.  The  rough-hewn  cabin  was 
embowered  with  roses ;  and  beautiful  vines 
flowed  over  it,  even  to  the  roof,  profuse  with 
blossom.  The  air  was  filled  with  perfume, 
and  the  garden  left  to  itself  seemed  to  have 
received  the  daintiest  touch  of  nature's 
hand;  for  there  was  scarcely  a  weed  in  it, 
and  the  brilliant  flowers  mingled  harmoni- 


ously together,  as  if  in  remembrance  of  the 
delicate  spirit  that  once  ministered  unto 
them.  A  flood  of  associations,  of  thrilling 
memories,  rushed  over  Will's  mind  as  he 
slowly  walked  amid  these  richly  freighted 
scenes.  He  felt  himself  in  a  temple  conse- 
crated to  the  divine  past.  He  thought  of 
Madeline,  of  her  beautiful  and  wonderful 
spirit,  that  still  seemed  living  in  the  bosom 
of  his  deserted  home.  What  a  star  she  was 
in  his  life,  and  with  what  a  soft  and  sweet 
effulgence  she  shone  over  his  path  to-day  ! 

He  went  to  the  door  of  his  cabin.  It 
was  open  as  if  to  give  him  welcome.  It 
probably  had  been  open  ever  since  he  left  it, 
for  Will,  when  he  bade  good-by,  said,  "  This 
cabin  belongs  to  the  world,  not  to  me, —  to 
any  tired  man  who  wants  it ;  and,  therefore, 
if  I  lock  the  door,  I  shall  be  guilty  of  rob- 
bery." So  many  a  traveller,  no  doubt,  had 
found  repose  beneath  its  hospitable  roof.  He 
entered.  What  an  indefinable  yet  glorious 
presence  was  in  it!  Almost  one  might 
think  from  its  familiar  gloom  Madeline 
might  reappear  to  welcome  him.  A  golden 
flood  of  sunshine  poured  in  the  little  win- 
dow, the  rich  radiance  of  departing  day.  It 
was  a  fairy  spot  indeed,  transfigured  as 
every  object  was  in  the  mellow  splendor 
that  joined  the  day  with  night  like  a  ring 
of  many-colored  jewels. 

There  was  a  visitor  in  the  little  cabin,  a 
chance  curiosity  seeker  probably,  an  ele- 
gantly attired  woman,  graceful  and  in  per- 
fect harmony  with  the  scene.  She  was 
evidently  in  an  absorbed  and  dreamy  state  ; 
for  she  was  standing  motionless  by  the  win- 
dow, looking  forth  over  the  vast  and  dazzling 
prospect. 

Will  would  have  withdrawn,  and  left  her 
to  her  quiet  meditation.  She  turned,  how- 
ever, too  quickly,  and  looked  full  upon  his 
face. 

"Lorena!"  he  cried,  while  the  blood 
rushed  fiercely  to  his  heart  and  he  almost 
fell.  "Why  is  this?" 

She  was  entirely  overcome,  and  sitting 
down  by  the  table  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands. 


152 


GOLDEN   THRONE. 


"  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  again,"  she 
said.  "The  buried  past  has  all  come  up 
before  me.  It  is  like  the  stab  of  a  knife." 

"  Fate  has  brought  us  together  again.  I 
have  tried  to  escape  you." 

"Thank  you  for  that.  It  was  not  best 
that  we  should  be  together.  I  should  have 
died." 

"  We  have  done  our  duty.  We  have  met 
unexpectedly.  Oh,  how  sweet  it  is!  Alas 
that  we  must  part  again !  " 

"  Alas  !  "  she  said  slowly. 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment, 
silently. 

"  When  did  you  come  here  ?  "  he  said  at 
length. 

"  Only  a  few  days  ago.  I  came  to  rest.  I 
do  need  it  so  much." 

"  I  think  you  do.  Is  Mr.  Raymond  with 
you  ?  " 

"He  is  not,"  she  said,  while  a  sudden 
paleness  overspread  her  face. 

"  How  long  shall  you  remain  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  This  is  my  old  home." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  she  answered,  with  anima- 
tion. "  Tell  me  about  it." 

"My  sister  Madeline  and  I  lived  here. 
This  was  her  room.  She  made  the  garden, 
and  planted  the  flowers  and  vines.  She  died 
here.  Yonder  is  her  grave." 

"Let  us  go  and  look  at  it,"  she  said. 
There  was  gentleness  and  warmth  in  her 
tones.  Apparently,  she  did  not  wish  to  sep- 
arate from  him  just  yet. 

So  they  wandered  to  the  grave  of  Made- 
line. 

"  I  was  happy  here,"  he  said. 

"You  must  have  been,"  she  answered. 
"It  is  so  quiet.  Nothing  could  have  dis- 
turbed you." 

"  Nothing  save  death.  That  came  at  last. 
Here  she  lies.  See  how  the.  flowers  grow 
over  her.  This  beautiful  rose,  it  is  an 
emblem  of  her  soul,  pure  and  rich." 

"  Will  you  give  it  to  me  ?  I  will  remem- 
ber her  with  you." 

"  I  thank  you  for  that.  You  can  remem- 
ber us  together,  both  dead  and  both  living." 


"I  will  give  you  this  for  remembrance," 
she  said,  plucking  another  rose. 

"  I  will  keep  it,"  he  said,  "  and  remember 
you  as  I  remember  Madeline." 

"  Are  you  to  remain  at  Golden  Throne  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"I  shall  go  away  to-morrow  morning," 
he  replied. 

"And  travel?" 

"  Yes,  travel,  that  seems  my  destiny  now, 
over  the  world,  seeking  what  is  new." 

"  It  must  be  tiresome.  Travel  for  a  while 
is  exhilarating ;  but,  continued,  it  becomes 
a  task." 

"  It  is  a  task." 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again,"  she  said. 

"No,  I  must  live  upon  the  memory  of 
this  hour.  It  has  been  very  sweet." 

The  day  was  now  almost  gone,  and  the 
stars  began  to  appear  one  by  one.  The 
magic  of  the  night  was  upon  them,  and 
their  pulses  beat  with  delicious  fervor. 

"Shall  I   walk    back    with  you?"    said 

wm. 

She  answered  yes.  And  through  the 
winding  pathways,  amid  the  rocks  and 
trees,  and  over  the  glistening  waters,  they 
passed  to  the  bustling  city. 

Its  lights  were  gleaming  in  the  distance. 
More  slowly  the  two  lovers  walked,  as  if 
dreading  the  hour  of  separation. 

"When  do  you  expect  Mr.  Raymond?" 
said  Will. 

"I  do  not  expect  him." 

"Is  he  in  the  city?" 

"He  is  not." 

"How  many  days  do  you  expect  to  re- 
main?" 

"I  cannot  tell." 

"This  is  a  longer  separation  than  usual 
from  your  husband  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  she  said  nervously. 

"Is  he  unwell?" 

"  He  has  been  unwell :  he  never  quite  re- 
covered from  the  shock  of  the  fire." 

"He  is  better  now?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that." 

"  You  leave  him  to  the  care  of  strangers  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  do  so." 


GOLDEN  THRONE. 


"  I  know  you  could  not.  Yet  I  wonder — 
tell  me,  Lorena,  is  he  living?  " 

"He  is  not,"  she  whispered.  "He  died 
one  year  ago,  and  sleeps  beside  the  sea.  I 
never  left  him  for  a  moment." 

Her  eyes  glistened  with  tears.  The  moon 
clothed  her  with  silver  radiance,  and  like  a 
pure  vision  she  stood  before  her  silent  and 
awe-struck  lover,  over  whom  swept  a  flood 
of  agony  and  joy. 

They  could  not  speak.  Death  overshad- 
owed them  with  solemn  and  sublime  tender- 
ness. They  hardly  dared  to  pluck  the  jewel 
which  its  black  waves  had  borne  to  their 
feet,  although  it  was  to  them  the  crown  of 
eternity. 

He  took  her  hand,  and  knelt  at  her  feet. 


«  What  shall  I  say?"  he  said.  "  Now  I 
am  free.  Now  I  can  worship.  The  whole 
ocean  of  my  being  leaps  with  all  its  music 
to  your  beloved  shore.  Fate,  once  iron,  is 
now  like  gold.  It  glistens,  and  melts  to 
fervid  joy." 

In  the  heart  of  night  bloomed  the  rose  of 
love,  and  the  dews  of  morning  touched  it 
with  deathless  radiance.  Like  two  children 
in  some  awful  and  splendor-crowned  tem- 
ple, they  joined  hand  to  hand,  and  kneeled 
before  the  shrine  of  that  mystic  power 
whose  noblest  effluence  and  sublimest  inter- 
pretation is  the  affection  which  binds  man 
and  woman  into  a  twofold  yet  common 
destiny. 


S53/ 


111 

^r^1v^>    ^hC^^^X 


